The Complete Skirmish Brothers Compilation
by Blood Dark Sun
Summary: Everything from the Skirmish Brothers universe now in one complete story, with new chapters sprinkled throughout. As of 2/2016 chapters are being added to this story only. Rated T for language.
1. Boxers vs Briefs

_For years I've been publicly moaning about how everything in the Skirmish Brothers universe should have been one gigantic story, and have finally decided to do something about it. This story is the four original stories recompiled, but has additional chapters added to it which were either deleted from the original stories, or written new for it. I am leaving the originals online because of the reviews and because many people have marked them as favorites, but those are all complete, and new chapters are being added to this story only. Thank you for reading._

 _A "guest" reviewer who is unwilling to give his or her name has reported me for duplicating the stories; if this suddenly vanishes, that is the reason why._

...

 **Boxers vs. Briefs.**

"I have an awesome idea."

"Who cares _,_ " Romano murmured, not stirring.

"Oh, just because you never come up with any ideas for pranks—"

"Just shut the fuck up."

Denmark agreed. "You talk too much, Prussia."

Poke.

Swat.

" _Scheisse_. You two are no fun today. Right, Gilbird?"

The three friends lay in the shade of a spreading oak tree. The day was too hot, and what had started as a prank-planning session had degenerated into a siesta of sorts. None of them was tired enough to fall asleep, but they were all too lazy to fully wake up.

Prussia was the most alert of the three. Wearing only his favorite awesome black boxers, sitting with his back to the tree trunk, he made soft cheeping noises to his bird periodically, when not throwing out random suggestions for activities that required entirely too much moving around. He looked at Denmark, usually such an ace planner, with irritation – the Dane was half asleep, clad in a white tee and red boxers with little hearts on them. Now _that_ had surprised both Prussia and Romano, who'd turned as red as the boxers, then looked quickly away when Denmark began laughing hysterically at his expression. Denmark lay on his stomach and kept idly trying to poke Prussia's leg with his big toe. Prussia swatted his foot away again and looked at Romano.

Of course Romano was not laid-back enough to take his jeans off in front of the other two. He had removed his shirt, though, complaining of the heat, and now lay on his back, arm thrown over his eyes, breathing deeply as he unsuccessfully sought sleep.

Denmark threw an acorn at Prussia. Prussia fielded it and threw it back. "Stop that."

Poke.

Swat.

"Seriously, stop a minute," Prussia said. "I'm having an idea."

"Dammit, not another one," Romano moaned, not looking up. "Just let me _rest."_

Prussia's eyes narrowed and his evil grin grew. Then he launched himself at Romano, pinning the Italian to the ground amidst a flurry of cursing and thrashing. Gilbird cheeped in panic and flew into the oak tree.

"Hey! What are you doing?" Denmark rolled over to watch.

"Kesesese, the awesome me is trying to bring a little excitement into our afternoon." He kept Romano subdued by sitting on his stomach and holding his wrists, feet hooked back over Romano's thighs, before turning to Denmark. "Don't you think he needs to be a little more involved?"

"I'm plenty involved, you damn bastard! Get _off_ me!" Romano struggled – or tried to – but Prussia was unrelenting. " _Chigi!"_ While Denmark sat back and laughed at this sight, Prussia suddenly leaned forward. Alarmed, the brunet stopped rebelling – he didn't want to break his nose on the bastard's head, dammit – and when the albino's forehead softly touched his…"Wh-what are you doing?" he stammered.

"Calm down," Prussia cooed. "Seriously, Romano, you're so…I don't know…what the hell is he, Den?"

"Aloof?" suggested Denmark with a grin. "I have no idea where you're going with this, but it sounds like fun." He sat up to watch more attentively.

"What the hell, 'aloof' is as good as any other word. The thing is, Romano…you hang out with us, and you play along with our pranks, but…I'm not convinced that you really like to be with us. And, I mean, I'm awesome and all, so you should really be much more excited about being with me. Uh, and Denmark," he added.

"I-I- Well, if I didn't like hanging out with you bastards," Romano demanded, frowning, looking over to see Denmark's reaction, "why would I do it?"

Prussia leaned back again, and Romano's hysteria begin to abate. The ex-nation smirked at him. "You awesomely mean it, do you?"

"Of-of course I do. I don't tell lies, dammit!" Romano glared at Prussia, but didn't start struggling again.

"Now, come on, you two. This is really not fair." Denmark stood up and walked over until he was standing behind Romano's head. "Let me join in."

Prussia grinned, leaned back, and yanked Romano into a sitting position. Denmark sat down behind the half-nation and slid his arms around the warm, bare waist. "Ah, so nice," he continued, resting his cheek on Romano's head.

"Wh-what? What the hell? Is this some sort of stupid prank?" Romano's irritation escalated again and he tried to break free of Denmark's embrace. Of course this was nearly impossible, given the tall Dane's strength, so he stopped.

"Listen, Romano…you see, Denmark and I – we both really like you a lot."

"Yes, we do," Den murmured. Romano could hear the grin in his voice. "You're a lot of fun, very—cooperative."

"Most of the time. But we want you to relax when you're with us."

"How the hell can I relax if you keep jumping on me?"

"But jumping on you was the only way to get your attention!" Prussia explained. "Now, stop struggling."

Romano did as he was told, with a sigh of exasperation.

"Now, look into my eyes."

Again, Romano complied. Denmark did too. He rested his chin on top of Romano's head.

"Now…take off your pants."

"What the – !" Unfortunately for Prussia, he'd slackened his control somewhat, and Romano was able to kick him backwards. Den continued holding Romano, whooping with laughter. "Why the hell do you want me to take my pants off?" the brunet demanded.

The albino shrugged and crawled back to sit next to his friends. "Isn't it obvious? You never relax enough to take your pants off. Denmark and I are always comfortable stripping down in front of you, but you…you never loosen up. I just want to, to _equalize_ things."

"Yep. And I bet he wants to see what kind of underwear you wear," Denmark snickered.

"That's why you're doing this?" Romano replied. "You want to see my underwear?"

Both the other nations nodded. "I bet it's black silk bikini briefs," Prussia added. "That just seems so you _._ " This made Den laugh again.

"Wait a minute. You idiots have _discussed_ this? Making me taking my pants off? How long have you been planning this, anyway? You creepy bastards, I'm going to kill you!" Amber eyes bored into crimson; Romano's fists and heels started drumming the ground again and he rocked from side to side, trying to break away from Denmark. It still didn't work.

"We never talked about it. I just thought this would liven up the afternoon. We weren't really doing anything, anyway."

"And I have been curious about your underwear, too, Romano," Denmark admitted. "Come on, show us." He began stroking Romano's hair calmly and grinned across him at Prussia, eyebrows raised.

 _Oh, for fuck's sake,_ Romano thought. "Well, you'll have to wait until another day." He sank back into Denmark's strong embrace. "I'm not wearing any."

Hard to say what was more gratifying: the way Den's arms and hands suddenly went deathly still, or the flaming blush that instantly spread up Prussia's cheeks. Romano closed his eyes and smirked. _Take that, bastards._


	2. We Need a Name

_I will only be uploading 1-2 chapters a day._

…

 **We Need a Name.**

Autumn; the weather was cooler. The three friends lay under their oak tree, but fully-dressed this time, with jackets on.

"We need a name."

"A name for what?" Romano tried feeding plucked grass to Gilbird, but the bird was clearly not interested. It flew up to perch on his head. He sighed.

"Yes!" Prussia leaped to his feet in excitement. "Great idea, Denmark. Yes, yes, we need an awesome team name. Something like, Murderous Blood Brothers."

Romano boggled. "You can _not_ be serious, you idiot. That's a ridiculous name."

"Yeah, Prussia, it needs to have something about drinking in it!"

"No, something tough, like killing. How about the Killing Machines?"

"I'm a lover, not a fighter, bastard. Your ideas are so self-centered."

Denmark sat up straighter. "All right, why don't we combine one thing from each of us? Something sexy, something tough, and something about drinking?"

There was a pause while they thought.

"How about…The Fighting…"

"…Fucking…"

"…Boozers?"

A bead of pure silence hung in the air, and then all three of them collapsed in hysterics. Gilbird flew to a safe distance, cheeping in merriment.

Several minutes later they calmed down. "Ah, that was hilarious," Romano said, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"I'll say. I love hanging out with you two. Nobody else makes me laugh like this."

"Of course you do, Denmark, we're awesome."

"You know," Romano mused, "I'm surprised you didn't want to put 'awesome' in the name."

"Yes, we should! The Awesome Killing Team!"

This led to a brief struggle where Romano tried to punch Prussia and tripped over a tree root instead. Strategic genius Prussia immediately sat on his stomach and pinned him to the ground.

"See how awesome I am?"

Denmark laughed. "Yeah, so awesome. Everyone can see it. Now come on, let's focus on the name."

"And get off me, you, you fucking 'awesome killing machine'!" Romano tried to maintain an angry face, but snorted again as he tried to push Prussia off him.

"Yeah, all right." The albino moved aside.

Romano sat up, panting a little, still laughing. "Right, well, listen. Are we talking about a secret name or something the rest of the world will know about? Like those idiots in the Bad Touch Trio?"

Whoops. Romano had forgotten Prussia was part of the BTT.

When they were finished scuffling, Prussia had a nice bruise on his cheekbone and Romano's clothes were disheveled and torn.

"Again I must point out that you two keep having fun without me," Denmark said, and with no further preamble he jumped on Prussia, laughing, and started pummeling him.

"What the –? Denmark, what the fuck?" Prussia fought back, but Denmark easily subdued him and sat on _his_ stomach. Romano backed away, amused. "Get off, you – oof!" Prussia kept pushing; Denmark kept grinning. " _Off_!"

"Nope. I never get to sit on anyone, and I'd squash Romano if I sat on him. Now focus. Are we going to make up a name or not?"

"Yes, we should have a name," Romano affirmed. "Definitely something about fighting, since we never seem to hang out without a fight."

"And something sexy, since we're all hotter than hell," Denmark added cheerfully, tickling Prussia's exposed belly.

Both of them looked at Prussia, who had finally stopped squirming under Denmark.

"Does it really have to be about drinking?" he asked. "Sure, we all drink a lot, but you know, we almost never drink _together._ This name should be about what we do when we're together."

"Well, we could start drinking more often," Romano offered with a snort.

"Ah, no, we don't really need booze in the name," Denmark agreed. "But still."

"The Sexy Pranksters."

Romano threw an acorn at Prussia.

"Hey, don't hit a nation when he's down! _You_ come up with something!"

"The, the…the Hot, Strong…?"

"Coffee?" Denmark laughed. "I love hot, strong coffee!"

Prussia finally succeeded in pushing Denmark off. " _Scheisse_ , you two are ridiculous. Hot strong coffee, my _Arsch_."

"I could use a cup of coffee, though," Romano admitted.

Denmark jumped up. "Okay, let's go get some! Come on, Prussia." He dragged the albino to his feet.

"I can't believe this!" Prussia shouted. "You two have the absolute worst focus of anyone I've ever met!"

"Oh, shut up, please _._ You're right, you're awesome, you have the best focus ever, the best strategy, the cutest bird, blah, blah, blah, okay?" Romano stomped off towards the coffee shop.

"Yeah, and you're clearly so far above us that Romano and I shouldn't even hope to be seen with the awesome you, yeah?"

Prussia madly ruffled his own hair. "Oh, _you_ shut up. I didn't mean it like that."

"Yeah, I know." Denmark put his arm around the albino's shoulders and they walked off after Romano.

"Come on, Gilbird."

"Cheep!"

…

Several cups of coffee later, the establishment had kicked them out, because Prussia was bouncing off the walls. Numerous team names had been tossed around, but of course nobody was happy with any of them.

Gilbird rode on Denmark's head. "I've seen people who can't handle their booze, Prussia, but you're the first I've ever seen who can't handle a few cups of coffee."

"Yeah, how are we going to factor _that_ into the name? Two Hot Strong Coffee-Drinkers and One Weak Idiot?"

Prussia immediately put Romano in a headlock.

"Ow, ow, okay, sorry, come on, let go, you moron."

"How about 'Sauced on Coffee'?"

The other two stopped in their tracks and stared at Denmark. Prussia's arm let go of Romano and fell limply to his side. "Huh?"

"What? It was just a joke."

"No, no," Prussia said, with a mischievous gleam in his eye that Denmark couldn't see – but Romano could. He backed away to watch as Prussia continued. "Sauced on Coffee. I kind of like it. It's, well, it's _stupid, without making any sense at all!_ Kesesese! _"_ He turned and punched Denmark on the arm.

Denmark easily put Prussia in a headlock, laughing. "You're an ass, Prussia."

"'Sauced' isn't even a word, damn you," Prussia grunted.

While they were struggling, Romano nonchalantly repeated, "Definitely something about fighting."

"Shut up unless you want a piece of me too!" Prussia shouted, kicking Denmark in the shin. "Augh, what is it with you two! Did you decide to gang up on me today?"

"Hey, it's not us, it's you, Sauce-boy," Denmark laughed. "You're the one who can't handle his caffeine."

Prussia simply growled at this and stalked ahead of them, scrubbing his hands through his hair again.

"The Overcaffeinated Sexy Brawlers?" Denmark offered loudly.

Romano laughed; Prussia tried not to. He wanted to nurse his sulk. Gilbird perched on his head.

"Argh, let's just drop it for now. Let's go to the beach or something." Romano looked around to get his bearings.

"It's too cold for the beach," Prussia pouted, but Denmark got a distant, speculative look in his eye.

"Romano," he started, artlessly, looking everywhere but at Romano's face, "if we go to the beach, will you—"

"Oh, _yes_!" Prussia yelled, turning back and grabbing Romano's arm. "You have to show us your underwear!"

Passersby began walking – and running – quickly away from the three, not even pretending to be nonchalant about it.

"Argh, not that again, dammit. Let go!" Romano struggled, trying to free his arm, and looked around at the fleeing populace.

To his surprise Prussia started blushing, though he didn't let go of Romano's arm. "Unless you – you know, if you're – uh – still – uh –"

Denmark cleared his throat. "You mean, did he go commando today?" Now all three of them were blushing, not looking at each other.

"I'm not going to the beach, dammit," Romano finally barked, ripping his arm out of Prussia's grasp and stomping ahead. "It's too cold." His friends hurried to catch up.

"Okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Denmark put a hand on Romano's shoulder. "I just thought it would be funny."

"Yeah, yeah, everything's funny to you, isn't it, bastard?" Romano's face was irritated, but Denmark could tell he wasn't really mad. He stepped up to Romano's right side and slung an arm around the Italian's shoulders. Prussia came up on the left and did the same. Romano didn't shrug them off, so the three of them walked in silence for a little while.

…

"Well, as long as it's nothing stupid like the Awesome Friends of Prussia or anything like that, we really should be able to come up with something."

"Awesome Friends of Prussia, that's a good one, Romano! You _are_ an awesome friend."

Romano growled. "Keep talking like that and you'll find out I can be a dangerous friend."

"Dangerous."

Prussia and Romano both turned to Denmark. "What?" Prussia asked. "Dangerous what?"

"We're dangerous. Right?"

They considered this. "We, we could be dangerous," Romano admitted. "You probably are. I'm not…not entirely dangerous all by myself." He looked down at his feet, embarrassed.

"Oh, come on! You're awesomely dangerous. Anytime we talk about your underwear—"

Romano leaned over and socked Prussia right in the nose.

When Prussia had calmed down, he said softly, "See? You're damned dangerous, Romano." The Italian simply caressed the albino's hair idly in acknowledgement, in apology, before turning to their taller friend.

"Are you dangerous, Den?"

"He sat on me! Of course he's dangerous! Overbearing, coffee-drinking—" Prussia started, before Denmark clapped his hand over Prussia's mouth.

"Careful, my albino friend, you're in a very vulnerable position! You don't want a broken nose, do you? Or, or, anything else injured?" He grinned significantly.

Prussia shook his head.

"All right, then." Denmark removed his hand. "Yes, I am quite dangerous! If anybody tries to mess with my friends, they'll see just how dangerous I can be. I don't carry that axe around for nothing." He paused. "I mean, I'm not carrying it around today, but you know what I mean."

A moment of silence while the other two considered Denmark's massive axe.

"The Dangerous, Axe-Wielding—"

"Don't be stupid, Prussia, I'm not going to start carrying an axe around!"

"Yeah, you probably couldn't lift one!"

Denmark pushed his hand into Romano's face before the Italian could attack again. "Calm down…please? I can't be separating you two all day."

"I would calm down if he would just shut up with the damn insults," Romano grumbled. "Just because Prussia was such a fucking mighty military power…"

"Hey, you admitted it! You rock, Romano. Give me a kiss."

"Wha –? What are you, nuts? No."

"Well, what, then?"

"Temperamental Bastards, maybe," Romano suggested.

"I'm not temperamental. Just Prussia."

"Romano's damn temperamental, too!"

"Cheh, why wouldn't I be, dealing with you?"

Prussia then crowed, "The Argumentative Bastards!"

"The lame-ass losers, is more like it."

"Aw, come on! It has 'bastards' in it! That's one of your favorite words!"

"Not for you to use, albino potato."

"Geez, how fucking inept can we be?" This was followed by a groan from Denmark. "We've been talking about this all damn day _._ "

"Well, a truly awesome team name doesn't just float out of the ether, you know."

"Hey," Denmark realized, "you guys know we haven't eaten at all today? Just that coffee. Although it was good coffee."

"No wonder we're all acting so stupid. Come back to my place; I'll make pasta."

"Pastaaa!" squealed Prussia, jumping in the air joyously in a passable imitation of Veneziano.

"Chigi! It's bad enough I have to listen to my damn brother do that. Don't."

…

"That was delicious." Denmark burped discreetly. "I don't eat a lot of pasta, but I can safely say that I never had pasta that good before."

"Damn right," Romano smirked. "But, next time, I want to try some Danish food. I don't know anything about it at all."

"Danish food is pretty good. But German food is better!"

"Pfft. Don't be an idiot."

After the three had cleaned the kitchen they moved to the living room. "Should we light a fire? It's not really fire weather yet, but…" Romano hovered over the copper firewood tub.

"I love fire," sighed Prussia, in a surprisingly soft voice. "It's so mysterious."

"Yes, Romano, let's have a mysterious fire."

So Romano built up the fire while Prussia and Denmark lolled around on the floor, discussing various historically-important fires. By the time the fire had been started, they'd agreed that Russia (creepy though he was) had the most impressive fire record, by setting Moscow alight to deny Napoleon and his troops any chance of quarter. "Ballsy," Prussia called it. "Plus it showed that idiot France what for."

Romano snorted. "I thought he was your friend?"

"He is, but he's still an idiot!"

The Italian finished with the fire and sat on the other side of Denmark. "There, that should do it."

"We had a great day today, didn't we?" Denmark stretched out full-length on his back and stared at the ceiling, feeling the fire's heat on the top of his head. "Even though we didn't pick a name."

Prussia, in a drowsy voice, lying on his stomach and staring into the flames, said, "Don't worry. We'll think of something. After all, we are awesome."

"And sexy."

" _And fighters_."

"The Awesome Sexy Fighters?"

Nobody dignified that with a response. The room stayed quiet for a few minutes until Denmark rolled over to stare into the fire. "Cozy," he murmured.

"Cozy? That's not part of a good name."

"But it is cozy here," Romano agreed. "Safe and warm." He snuggled against Denmark involuntarily. When he realized what he was doing, he started to pull away, but then realized he had nothing to fear from his northern friend. Denmark was broad and warm and strong, and it was very comforting to lie next to him.

"Mmm. The Cozy Fighting Hotties."

Well, nobody was able to lie there and be cozy after an idiotic remark like that! Romano elbowed Denmark in the ribs and Prussia swatted ineffectually at his face. The brunet muttered, "Not – not hotties, you idiot. That's really embarrassing."

"Yeah. And cozy is incompatible with awesome."

"Okay. We'll save the cozy stuff for when we're alone."

Some more time passed while they thought and dozed. "Mm, hey, Romano, do you mind if we stay here tonight? In front of the fire? It's so nice," Prussia sighed. "Home's such a long way away, too."

"Sure, stay as long as you want, idiot. Want some blankets?"

"Yes, please!" the other two chorused.

Romano struggled up and came back with an armful of blankets and pillows. "Knock yourselves out," he said, and threw a few more logs on the fire.

"Oh, but you're not going to go to bed and leave us here all alone?" Prussia gave Romano a very sweet smile.

"Nah, but I'm not sleeping next to you, you dangerous fucking bastard." He nudged Denmark into the center of the room with his foot, plumped out his pillow and settled in.

"Dangerous Fucking Bastards is no good. People will think it's risky to have sex with us." Prussia snickered.

The Viking laughed. "Maybe it is, with you!"

"Maybe Den and I should be Dangerous Bastards and you can go home and whine about your 'awesomeness.'" They could all hear the air quotes clicking into place around that word.

"You know you love me, Romano," Prussia retorted. Romano just snorted.

Some more silence, some more relaxing.

"How about the Skirmish Brothers?"

"Hey, I kind of like that. Short and to the point. Skirmish Brothers."

"Sounds a bit girly," Prussia argued. Before Romano and Denmark mustered enough energy to punch him, he yawned and added, "But it'll do." A pause. More quietly: "It would be cool to have you two as brothers."

"All right!" Denmark's eyes gleamed and he reached out an arm to either side to embrace his new brothers. "Good night, my new Skirmish Brothers."

Romano closed his eyes. "Good night."

"Yeah. Good night, my awesome friends."


	3. Denmark Has a Plan

**Denmark Has a Plan.**

"So what's up?" Romano looked at both Denmark and – and England? For some reason the island nation was blushing and wouldn't meet his eye. He was dressed casually, in a black tee and skinny black jeans, and a red hoodie. Not a look that Romano had ever noted him sporting, before, but, whatever.

Denmark scratched his head. "Well, England, he, uh…You know that song about 'All your lovers will be Italian'?" Romano nodded. "England is feeling, shall we say, romantically challenged? He wants to learn from you."

"Learn what?" When neither of the blond nations answered him, Romano jabbed England in the ribs with his elbow. "Learn what, bastard?"

England mumbled something.

"What? Speak up."

"I think he said 'kissing,'" Denmark offered. England nodded, still unable to look at Romano.

"You want me to teach you how to _kiss_."

England nodded again, ears a flaming red, still not speaking.

"So what the hell are you doing here?" Romano asked Denmark.

"Hey, you know me," Denmark grinned, "Happy to facilitate learning!"

Romano counted to ten, grinding his teeth. "So you're going to sit around and watch this?"

England finally spoke. "If – I – I - if you don't want to do this, Romano, that's fine too. I completely understand." He looked off to the side.

Romano considered this. He'd always heard England was a bit of a cold fish – must be all that fog and rain and shit – but if he was willing to learn, what the hell. It might benefit someone, in the long run, right? And Romano was the best. Hmm…he had a reputation to uphold.

"All right, idiots. We can make this work," he said. England's head whipped around in surprise; he met Romano's eyes without meaning to, and both of them started blushing. Denmark smiled.

…

They'd all gone to Den's house, judging it the least likely place to be interrupted, what with Veneziano and the potato bastard barging into Romano's house at the drop of a hat, and the risk of France or America showing up at England's.

"Wait a minute," Romano asked Denmark. "What about Prussia? Why isn't he here?"

England, who'd taken off his jacket, began twisting the sleeves furiously. "If that bloody albino is coming here, I'm leaving," he stated flatly. "I don't need to learn _that_ badly."

"No, no," Denmark reassured him. "He's off doing something with Austria today."

"Doing something _to_ Austria, more likely," England muttered.

Romano smirked and nodded in agreement. "As long as he stays there."

"That's a good point," Denmark conceded, rubbing his chin. "He knows I was looking for him earlier. If Austria kicks him out, he might head over this way."

"Dammit." England and Romano spoke at the same time, and then looked at each other, blushing.

"We-ell…how about this? I'll go over to Austria's too, and if Prussia shows any signs of coming over here, I'll distract him."

"You'd do that?" England asked. "Willingly?" He snorted.

"Sure, I don't mind. I'm not that much of a voyeur anyway," the Dane laughed. "Is that all right with you, Romano?"

"Yeah, that'll work. It'll probably be easier for us if you're not standing around taking notes." He rubbed his hand over his face in irritation.

"Right then. How long will you need? Four hours?"

"Four hours?" Romano huffed, insulted. He turned to England. "Do you really think it will take _four fucking hours_ for you to learn to kiss right?" Damn, obviously this bastard had no clue at all. Four hours! It'd probably take Romano half that just to get him to loosen up.

England didn't answer, just looked away.

"Fine, bastard," to Denmark. "Four hours. Don't come back before then!"

"Okay," Denmark agreed. "See you. Call me if you're done before then." He walked out, locking the door behind him.

"Knock before you come in!" Romano called out, then turned back to the room. His guest had collapsed onto one of the deep leather couches, head in hands.

"Hey, bastard," nudging England with his elbow.

A grunt was the only response. Romano sat down on the couch next to him and thought about this.

They lived through a few minutes of silence. "Well?" the blond finally asked.

"Give me a few minutes," Romano countered. "I've never had to try to, to teach this before. Not like a lesson…so…I'm not sure that I can, you know, tell you what to do," he stated slowly. "I don't know if anybody can actually do that successfully. I, uh, I can show you, though. I mean, if – if you let me, I can teach you by kissing you." He looked hesitantly over at the island nation, who was blushing again; Romano knew his face had reddened as well. "Is – is that all right?" He held his breath, hoping he hadn't offended the bastard.

England nodded nervously.

"All right, well, we need to relax a little, right?" Romano kicked his shoes off; England did the same. "I didn't realize you and Denmark were such good friends." Some conversation might help them loosen up a bit, he thought.

"We go drinking a lot. That man can _drink_."

Romano considered this. "I've never been drinking with him before. He's fun, huh? That doesn't surprise me."

"Sometimes Prussia joins us. I always drink too much when that happens."

This admission made Romano chuckle, and England looked up at him, offering a slight smile in return. Huh, the tea bastard wasn't so bad-looking when he smiled. "That's good," he said. "Nice smile." England blushed again and pressed his lips together. "Now, can I ask you some stuff? About why we're here?"

"Of course. Ask what you like."

"You need to be truthful with me, though. I won't be able to do this right if you're holding back."

"I said I'd answer, didn't I?" A small frown appeared between the impressive eyebrows, distracting Romano temporarily.

He shook his head to focus. "Right. Okay, right. Why do you want to have, have kissing lessons?" Dammit, it felt so stupid saying that out loud; he blew out a breath and looked away.

"Isn't it obvious? There's someone I like. I want to be a good kisser. It would be very awkward if I managed to get a date and then ruined it by being a bad kisser."

Well, that made sense. "So do you just want to learn to kiss? Or do you want to learn the whole seduction thing?"

England recoiled. "You – you don't have to teach me about, about _sex,_ you git. I know what to do!"

"No, no, no, dammit," Romano sighed again. "I wasn't talking about that. I meant, like, the, the, uh, the art of seduction." The island nation looked blank, so Romano leaned forward and cupped his cheek with a hand gently, dropping the tone of his voice. "Getting close to someone, through touching and talking." The blond was now frozen in place, eyes like a deer in headlights, but he didn't draw back. "Softening them up, so that they are more receptive when you do finally kiss?" He softened his gaze and moved subtly closer, though he could still feel a blush on his face. Dammit. This might be more difficult than he'd originally thought.

"I – I –" England broke the connection between their eyes, and looked away again. He took a deep breath. "Yes. I need, I want, to learn that sort of thing, too. Whatever you can teach me." Sighing, he looked back at Romano's face. "Go ahead…I'll try to loosen up enough to be – er – a good pupil."

Romano's mouth quirked into a tiny, appreciative smile. "That's good. Here, let's start by just sitting and relaxing together." He took England's right hand with his left and put his right around the blond's shoulders, a little shyly.

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes. _I'm good at what I do,_ Romano thought. _Damn good._ But it had been so long since he'd had any kind of closeness with anyone. Not that he felt unequal to the task, of course not. But – it would be sort of nice to cuddle, to kiss, someone, even if it was just for one day. Even if it was just to soften the guy up for his future date.

He began stroking England's shoulder gently, absently, thinking this over; the island nation leaned in and rested his head on Romano's shoulder. _Why the hell not_? he thought. _Maybe just for today, I can pretend the bastard's here for_ me _, and enjoy the intimacy._


	4. First Hour: England

**First Hour: England**

England relaxed against Romano. Bloody hell, how had he gotten himself into this? (How else…drinking.) He'd gone drinking with Denmark and Prussia a few days ago. While Prussia and Veneziano had been up on the stage crooning the "In Hell/In Heaven" song to each other, England had drunkenly confessed to Denmark about his new crush. Not the person's name, of course…just that he _had_ a crush, and had no idea how to progress with it.

Denmark had seemed merely sympathetic, idly listening to the singers, until the final line, when Veneziano'd squealed, "All your lovers will be Italian! Wahoo!" and hugged Prussia. A determined look had come into Denmark's eye (though missed by the drunk, oblivious England) and he'd suggested lessons from Romano.

 _England stiffened. Does he know, did I say it was Romano? He replayed the conversation in his head, and was fairly certain he hadn't mentioned Romano's name. "Why him?" he'd asked warily._

 _Denmark jerked a thumb at the stage. "You know he'd be an expert, right? Why_ not _Romano? I bet he kisses like a demon."_

 _England got a bit distracted while thinking of kissing a Romano-demon…but pulled himself back to the conversation in time to hear Denmark say, "I'll go with you. How's Saturday?"_

" _Huh? Saturday? For what?"_

" _Romance lessons with Romano!" Denmark was beaming so brightly that England merely acquiesced and then laid his head on the table, returning to the pleasurable drunken fantasies of Romano as a demon…demons were hot, excitable, unpredictable…mmm..._

And so here they were, on Saturday, and he'd felt like a git right up to the point where Romano had agreed. He'd _agreed!_ England couldn't figure out why Romano would have agreed. But the next hurdle was, how could either of them relax with Denmark studying them?

Luckily that had been overcome, too.

Now he sat, sort of half-snuggled against Romano, but still somewhat hesitant. He wanted to be a most exceptional student, so that the brunet would not feel he'd wasted his time – and so that if England ever did get up the courage to ask him for a date, he'd be able to – seduce him? The island nation froze at the completion of that thought and felt Romano's hand stop stroking his shoulder.

"Are you all right, bastard?"

"Yes, I'm fine…May I ask you something?"

"Sure, whatever."

"Why do you always call me a bastard? I'm really quite a nice person. I try to be a gentleman."

Romano's hand began moving on his shoulder again. "Cheh. I call everybody a bastard. Nothing personal. You call everybody a, a git, right? Or a wanker? It's like that."

Oh.

"Could – could you call me something else, today? It's going to be very difficult to act…properly, if you keep calling me 'bastard.'"

Romano appeared to consider this, and then blew out a breath. "I can't think of anything else."

"Well, then, just call me England. It can't be that hard, can it?"

"I can do that…England." His voice was warm and amused.

The island nation leaned his head back on Romano's shoulder, tilted back to smile weakly up at his instructor. "See? That wasn't so difficult."

"You have a point." He brought his other hand up, gently laying the palm against England's flushed cheek. The blond lost his smile almost instantly, but did not pull away. Romano kept his hand in place for several seconds, not moving; England closed his eyes and savored the warmth of that hand. "That's good…just take your cues from me, all right?" The deep voice was closer than he'd expected, and softer, more mesmerizing. The island nation nodded slowly, slightly.

With his eyes closed, he found it much easier to relax, and he smiled, nestling his face into Romano's hand. He felt the half-nation's thumb stroking his cheekbone, quietly, softly, and he snuggled a little closer. "Your hands are so warm," he murmured. "They feel so good."

Since his eyes were still shut, he felt rather than saw Romano lean in closer to him. England took a moment to draw a deep breath, trying to capture his scent without seeming too desperate. Ah, yes…he smelled really nice, clean and sweet, a little bit like tomatoes. The blond let out a little sound of appreciation.

"That's nice, bast—England. You're nice and relaxed, and you feel warm, and responsive." Romano turned his face so that his lips moved through England's messy hair. "And you smell so good, so different."

This comment, so close to his own thoughts, shocked England's eyes open, although he was careful not to pull away. "I do? What do I smell like?"

"Mm," Romano responded, lips caressing England's hair. "Like salt, and fresh-cut grass, and, and, I don't really know what else," he admitted, "but it's really refreshing. I had no idea."

England blushed and drew back to offer Romano a tentative smile. He tangled his fingers in Romano's free hand. "I – you –" he stammered.

Romano laid a finger on his lips. "Shh…just relax, all right?" He gently flicked the blond bangs off his forehead. "I'll take good care of you, I promise."

England's heart was hammering so loudly he was surprised Romano couldn't _see_ it. The proximity to the warm Italian was making not only his heart, but his thoughts, and his blood, race. But he knew his usual tactic – jumping on his partner and plastering his lips to theirs – was definitely not the correct approach here. _Take your cues from me_ , Romano had said. All right. He could manage that.

"Here. Turn and put your legs across my lap." At these confusing words of the Italian's, England frowned, not reacting. Romano then grabbed his legs and swung them across his lap. Then he encircled England's waist with his arm, pulling him closer to rest the blond head on his shoulder. "Like sitting on my lap, but…not. You can be closer to someone this way. Face-to-face, instead of side-to-side. You see?"

He nodded and put his free hand on Romano's chest. Was – was his heart beating as strongly as England's own? No, of course not; the famous southern lover was accustomed to this sort of thing. He was probably just feeling the echo of his own nervous heart. To try to calm down, he leaned against Romano and tilted his head back. "I, I don't get to cuddle much," he whispered. "Sorry if I'm too awkward."

Romano squeezed his waist lightly. "Don't worry so much. We have a lot of time today. Okay? And – and we can always work on it another day, too, if you think you need to."

Before he could respond, Romano leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek, drawing back quickly. England watched his face, still open and confident, stain a little pink afterwards. Maybe Romano _was_ a little nervous? Maybe he had heard England was no good at this?

"Are we going too fast?" Romano asked him. "Are you comfortable with this?"

England took another deep breath. "It-it's fine." _Cues, cues,_ he thought, and then brought his hand up to Romano's cheek just like the other had done. Bravely, he gazed at the Italian, while tickling his fingertips through the hair at his temple, watched him close his eyes and inhale powerfully.

"Yes, that's nice, that's quite good. By…by the time you're cuddling this closely, the message ought to be pretty clear, that you've got romance on your mind, right?" England nodded and pushed his fingers deeper into the soft, dark hair. "So, uh," Romano swallowed; "yeah," breathed, "so any kind of teasing touch is going to help out." He paused for a moment and opened his eyes. "You're doing great." He smiled subtly at England, who felt his heart leap again.

Before he went any further, there was one thing he wanted to be certain of. "Are you seeing anyone?" he blurted out. Romano blinked. "I mean, I wouldn't want anyone to be offended by our, our lesson, right, if they found out?"

"Oh. No, no need to worry. I'm not dating anyone right now."

England smiled. "Good, it will be a lot easier to relax now." Romano answered with a small grin of his own and lifted the blond's hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the fingers, his amber eyes not leaving England's.


	5. Second Hour: Romano

**Second Hour: Romano**

Romano felt conflicted. It was getting harder to concentrate on giving England a romance lesson. He wanted to give up the whole lesson thing and just make out on the couch until Denmark came back! No, that wouldn't do. He needed to focus.

But the weight of England's body leaning against him, the shy trust in the blond's brilliant green eyes, and the invigorating smell of him – these things were taking away Romano's focus, draining it away. He blinked a few times to try to clear his head, and felt England slide his hand up the back of his neck. So nice…he was learning quite well…

"When's the last time you were with someone like this?" he asked, sliding his hand up the blond's back, under his t-shirt. Maybe talking would help him be a little more objective. But ah, that cool, smooth skin…too distracting! He quickly withdrew his hand from the shirt.

"Truthfully?" England answered quietly. "I've never been with anyone like this." He paused. "This is much nicer than it's ever been with anyone else."

"Cheh. Of course it is. Remember, I'm an expert," Romano grinned, putting his hand on the back of England's neck. His long fingers wrapped around and his thumb rested on the island nation's pulse. It was racing…well, of course it was, he told himself. It didn't take much for people to get excited around him.

Suddenly Romano was seized by a desire to kiss that leaping pulse point, and he acted on it, pressing his lips to the rose-and-cream skin. He did manage to withhold his tongue, though it would have been so nice to lick England's neck…dammit _._ But he kissed the beating pulse again, hearing a little murmur of pleasure from England, who put his arms around Romano's neck and tilted his head back.

"Do you like that?" Romano murmured, drawing back. This was supposed to be a lesson. He ought to find out what pleased England best…right? Yeah.

"Er. Yeah. I – I mean, yes, I like it a lot."

Romano sighed in frustration. This wasn't going to be easy unless England got over his self-consciousness. He tried to break down the Englishman's reserve once more. "Look, let me ask you something. If you and I were here on a date right now – instead of a lesson – what would you be doing? I mean, if you wanted to be kissing me." This ought to help, right? Why on earth, then, was _he_ blushing now? Dammit. He rubbed his free hand over his face in embarrassment.

"Do you mean, how do I behave on dates?"

Romano nodded. His hand was still wrapped around England's neck, and he stroked the pulse point with his thumb, trying to calm England down…trying to calm himself down. "I – I would probably have – er – pushed you down on the couch and started kissing you right away," the blond answered. He held Romano's gaze, now boldly crossing his arms over his chest.

"Really? Dammit, that's so – wow." Romano was actually kind of excited by the idea of being dominated by the Brit. He watched carefully, but saw no sign of a blush. Hmm, clearly he was comfortable with the idea of jumping on someone. "As exciting as that seems, it's probably not the wisest approach to a new date," he pointed out.

"Exciting?"

"Well, ah, yeah, it's really different from what I do," Romano offered. "In Italy it's all about the slow art of seduction. The time leading up to the kissing is as important – maybe more so – than the kissing itself. It's different at your place?" he asked, subtly pulling England in to snuggle closer.

The island nation seemed relaxed now (because they were talking, and not seducing?). He slung his arm around Romano's shoulders, almost abstractly tangling his fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. "There are probably people who do it your way," he admitted. "But we tend to have more of a direct approach. It's like we don't want to waste time on all that foreplay" (here he looked away and turned bright red; the brunet withheld a snort) "when we can just get right down to the kissing." He paused. "But I can certainly see the value of the Italian method," he went on, grinning. "It's definitely more stimulating."

"Ah, that's better!" Romano cupped England's face, bringing it to face him. "It's good to see you looking happy, instead of so nervous." To his surprise, the blond didn't shy away, or blush, this time, just sat in the circle of Romano's arm, smiling at him. "I can kind of see the value of the English method," he added thoughtfully, letting his hand drop.

"Really? That's surprising. I had the impression that you Italians never acknowledged anyone as superior in matters of the heart."

"Well, there's always something new to learn, right?" Before England could respond, Romano leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. England was too startled to react, but didn't recoil or push Romano away. _Good._ "Are you going to kiss me back, bastard, or just sit there?" Romano was surprised to hear his voice crack when he said that.

"You promised not to call me 'bastard,'" England whispered. "But I think I can forgive you." He tilted his head back, eyes closed, and offered his lips to Romano, who leaned in and kissed him again, softly, sweetly, the kiss of a tender lover to his shy sweetheart.

But England still didn't _respond._ He embraced Romano, he allowed Romano to kiss him, but he didn't kiss back. This was worrying…was there something wrong with his kissing? No, no…it couldn't possibly be that. Maybe he was thinking about the person he wanted to date, and wasn't comfortable really letting go with someone else?

"Hey." He nudged England, who opened his eyes. "You know what I think might work? Just – just pretend that I'm really the one you want to be with. Close your eyes, lean forward, and kiss me. Kiss _me_ – Italy Romano – and do it the way you would kiss me, if you wanted to, uh, seduce me. Let me see what we're working with, here." Yeah, that sounded good. Was he blushing? Romano couldn't even tell anymore. England wasn't, though, so maybe this would work.

"I – I don't know if I can," England admitted.

"What? You can't –"

"No – wait. Please don't get upset. What I mean is," he pushed his hand through his messy hair, "now that you've shown me some different methods, I don't think I can – don't think I _want to_ \- just jump on you and start kissing. I like the things you've shown me. They're really sexy." Romano grinned and crossed his arms in triumph. The blond continued, "I just need some time to think about how to proceed on my own." He swung his legs off Romano's lap and got up, beginning to pace. "Do you think Denmark has any tea in the house? I'd calm down a lot if I had some tea."

Ah, why the hell not, Romano thought. He could use a break, too. This had been getting really tense. "Let's go look in the kitchen. I'm sure we can find something."


	6. Third Hour: England

**Third Hour: England**

In the kitchen, England put the electric kettle on and Romano looked through the cabinets for tea. He finally found some teabags in a drawer. "These all right?" he asked, handing them over.

"Yes, they'll do." The blond found two mugs and set them on the table. "Do you want some?" He held his breath. Most Western nations didn't care for tea like he did.

"Sure, I'll try it," Romano shrugged after a beat. "We don't drink tea in Italy much, but I'm willing to give it a try."

When the tea had been made and they sat at the table, England watched nervously as Romano sipped his tea. "What do you think?"

"Not bad, I guess. But I probably wouldn't want to drink it all the time."

The island nation relaxed. "Nobody likes to drink it as much as I do," he admitted, "but at least you tried it. Thanks." He gave Romano a weak smile and turned his attention to his own mug.

They sat in silence a while, each with his tea, his thoughts.

 _So now what,_ England wondered. _He really is so very sexy…_ He thought about what had attracted him to Romano in the first place. He'd seen the half-nation smile brilliantly at his brother Veneziano. And that simple, unexpected smile was enough to flip England's heart over. He'd never seen Romano smile like that before… _ever_ _…_ and he really wanted to see it again. He wanted to make Romano smile like that for him.

He sipped his tea, considering. The half-nation had actually seemed happy a few times – or at least, not as irritated as his usual public self – out there on the couch. England's smile grew around the edge of his mug. Maybe he was pleasing his instructor? Ah, probably not. As everyone constantly told him, he was such an old stick…who would ever believe that he, cold and lonesome England, could ever warm up that feisty Italian heart? He set the mug back on the table and looked at Romano…

…who was watching him carefully. What was he thinking? That today was a waste of his time? Bloody hell, England hoped not. At the very least he wouldn't want Romano thinking poorly of him. He really needed to loosen up, or the brunet would leave him here before the four hours were up, and then he'd feel like a git when Denmark came back.

Well, a gentleman was always a gracious host. Even though this wasn't his home, he could still behave civilly. "Would you like a snack? I'm sure we could find something in Denmark's refrigerator or his pantry."

"Tell you what," Romano said easily, rising to put his empty tea mug in the sink, "you look in the pantry and I'll look in the fridge." They each pulled out a few things and set them on the counter. "Here, hold this." Romano handed him the milk carton. England's hand slipped on the wet carton and it exploded on the floor, shooting milk everywhere.

"Dammit!" both of them yelled. England was still holding a packet of raisins in his hand. He crushed the raisins in his fist, in his anger, and flung the packet onto the counter. Unfortunately, the packet bounced up and hit Romano, who was still holding a tomato he'd found in the refrigerator.

"Chigi!" the Italian yelled, and reflexively threw the tomato at England. It hit him square in the chest and burst.

"That's it, you wanker! No mercy!" England grabbed a bag of carrots, ripped it open, and aimed them at Romano like darts. Romano yelled, laughing, and began rummaging through the table items for some ammo. He lobbed a big soft peach at England and ducked behind the kitchen island. The peach hit England right in the chest again. "Bloody hell! You're not going to get away with this!" He opened a jar of cinnamon and poured it over the edge of the island to land on Romano's head. "Stand up and take it like a man!"

Romano's response was to quickly stand up, toss another peach, and yell, "Take _this_ , pirate boy!" Unfortunately he missed. England's maniacal laughter escalated further. He scooped up the bruised peach and threw it back at Romano; it splattered on top of his head. "Dammit!"

England followed his attack with an entire box of chocolate chips, raining them down on the other like hail. "Don't mess with the Counter Armada!"

Romano launched an egg at him. Luckily, it missed again, but bollocks, England was near angry now. He reached for a squirt bottle of chocolate syrup and sneaked around the island, coming close to stand over Romano and squirt the syrup down onto him like a water gun, laughing like a fallen angel. Bloody hell, he loved fighting.

"Ah, stop, stop!" Romano yelled. "My hair! I'm going to kill you!" He stood up, grabbed a bag of sugar, and ripped it open right in front of England. Unfortunately, the bag burst in both directions, covering them in a cloud of fine white dust.

Romano dropped the sugar bag, looking around in confusion, but before he could say anything, England stepped up, slipped an arm around his waist, and kissed him soundly on the mouth. Oh…yes...cinnamon and sugar...he moaned briefly, before realizing what he was actually doing. "Er – s-sorry," he stammered, stepping back. "It's just – well – fighting gets me kind of excited."

"Don't apologize, pirate bastard," Romano replied, panting slightly, and grabbed him by the neck of his shirt for another strong kiss. England let the empty syrup bottle fall on the floor and wrapped his arms around him again.

Standing in the destroyed kitchen, coated in sugar, cinnamon, syrup, and milk, the two of them kissed each other like it was their last day on earth, hungrily, fiercely, fingers pulling each other closer, bodies pressing together, sugar on their lips. England felt Romano's tongue against his mouth, and he eagerly opened his own, moaning as he crushed Romano closer to him, trying to run his hands through the syrup-soaked hair. He felt a hand on the back of his neck, strong and firm, and pressed closer, now sliding his hands under the brunet's shirt, feeling the hot skin underneath…oh, this was _good_ …

"Dammit," Romano finally said to him, after a few stunned moments. "You don't need any lessons." He kissed him again, this time more gently and seductively. "Maybe you could even teach me something." He ran his palms slowly up and down England's back, under the shirt.

The blond shivered with pleasure and grinned. "Well, if I'd known it was _that_ easy…"

Romano tried to nip his nose, and then they kissed again, this time sweetly. "But we ought to clean this up before Denmark gets back." Both of them suddenly had an image of Denmark – and his axe – coming upon this mess in his house.

Quickly and efficiently they worked to clean up, occasionally pausing to exchange a little smile or a kiss, and in a short time the kitchen was clean, although about half the contents of the fridge and pantry had ended up in the trash can. The two stared at each other, just now realizing they were a complete mess.

"We should take showers," England said, beginning to blush halfway through the sentence.

Romano walked over and kissed him again, softly. "Do you want to shower together?"

"Er, I – I don't quite think I'm ready for that." Bloody hell, he sounded uptight _._ "Maybe next time?"

"Sure. I'll be down in ten minutes."

"I'll stay in the kitchen so I don't make a mess anywhere else."

England paced the kitchen after Romano had left the room. That food fight had been surprisingly arousing. He really did love fighting; it had always turned him on, when it wasn't too deadly. He hoped Romano wasn't simply thinking of this as a release of tension, though.

He leaned back against the sink and thought about this. Yes. He'd definitely tell Romano that he, England, wanted to date him. Well…maybe he wouldn't come right out and say that. Maybe he'd just ask for another lesson.

 _No, that's stupid. I'll just ask him out. What's the worst that can happen?_ Well, the brunet could say no…but England didn't really think he'd say no. He washed his hands. While he turned this all over in his mind (again, and again), Romano came downstairs from the shower, shirtless and toweling his hair dry.

"Your turn," he grinned. England looked shyly at him, but left the room to clean himself up.

…

 _Only one egg was harmed in the writing of this scene._


	7. Antagonizing Austria

_Eh, what the hell. Have a bonus chapter. I may slip in a few more of these from time to time._

…

 **Antagonizing Austria.**

"Kesesese! Hey, Den! Great to see you." Acting as though he owned the place, Prussia flew over to the doorway and hugged the Viking. "Right, Austria? Right? Isn't it great to see Den?" He dragged the now-laughing blond into the house.

"Good morning, Denmark," Austria replied formally. "Have you come to take Prussia somewhere else?"

The tone of hope in his voice made both the others laugh. "Sorry, no. I actually came over to make sure he stays here."

"Huh?" The albino stopped laughing and stared at him. "What? Why?"

Den punched him in the arm. "Never mind why. Let's just all hang out for a while." He hoped Austria wouldn't be too pissed off at this intrusion, but he knew that if Prussia got wind of the kissing lessons, he'd head over there like a bat out of hell to pester both Romano and England, and then Den's big romantic plan would go to hell in a handbasket. So Denmark would keep his mouth shut about it, and be pleasant, and try to make it easy for Austria to deal with both of them together, at least until the four hours were up. "How have you been?" he asked the brunet, as he allowed the still-baffled Prussia to lead him to a seat.

"There has really been nothing new. Would you like some coffee?" The host gestured to a silver coffee set on the table.

"Thanks, no. I'm good." Shit. He couldn't even think of anything to talk about. He and Austria had never really been close.

But he didn't need to worry. In any awkward situation, there would always be one nation who could keep the conversation flowing, if a bit too wildly. "This coffee is amazing," Prussia laughed, slurping up what was left in his cup and handing it to Austria for more. "Now, listen, Den, whether or not you have some dumb mystery thing going on doesn't really matter. But Austria was about to bake a cake for us. Your doorbell-ringing interrupted him. Did you still want to bake the cake, _Liebchen_?" he asked the host, batting his crimson eyes flirtatiously.

Austria rolled his eyes. "Stop calling me _Liebchen._ But yes," he sighed, "I might as well. Let's all go into the kitchen, where we can socialize while I bake."

"Awesome! Awesome Austrian cake!" Prussia leaped up and grabbed Den's arm, yanking him up and off the sofa, and into the kitchen.

…

Two hours later Den finally felt it was safe to leave. "This was a very delicious cake," he told his host. "And I'm not much of a coffee drinker, but it was the perfect accompaniment. Maybe I should start drinking coffee more often."

"Pfft. You're a beer man," Prussia laughed, socking him in the arm. "Ow. But yeah. Thanks, _Lieb—_ Austria. Sorry. But you are a great cook and I'm happy we came to see you today. I need to come visit you more often."

Den noticed the weariness, the dark circles around the brunet's beautiful purple eyes. Perhaps Austria was just too polite to kick them out? "We should get going," he decided, and got rewarded with a beautiful, exhausted smile.

"Thank you, Denmark. I'm sorry I've not been a better host today. Perhaps I'm feeling anemic," Austria sighed. "But I am glad you enjoyed the cake and coffee."

The three of them walked to the front door together. "Thanks again, my man," the albino said earnestly, giving Austria a tight hug. "Take care of yourself, _ja?_ "

" _Ja,_ I will," his friend replied, shooing him and Denmark out the door.

…

"So what's the big deal?" The two of them climbed into Den's car. "Why did you have to capture and keep me here?"

"No real reason. Let's go back to my place."

"Kesesese! Great idea. We can make another cake. I do love Austria's cake." Prussia leaned back in the seat and put his feet on the dash. "Do you have cake-making supplies at home? Do we need the grocery store?"

"Nah. Pastries are such a big part of the Danish diet that I always have the shit to make them, on hand. And when I don't, there are always bakeries. But we should be all right, today."

"Cool. Let's get going."

As the Dane drove off, Prussia poked him in the shoulder. "Now, honestly, what is the reason you came to Austria's? Don't give me any of that 'no reason' stuff."

"Eh, nothing. Romano's using my house for something." He thought that would be enough to shut Prussia up, but of course it wasn't.

"Romano is? Well, that's cool. Why does he need your house? Why can't he do it at home? What is it, anyway? Baking? Why didn't he want us around?"

 _Fandens._ He'd thought this would shut the albino up, but…no. "Look, don't worry about it!"

"Oh, a surprise, huh? Kesesese! A surprise for me? Whee, Denmark, you are totally awesome."

"And get your feet off the fucking dashboard!"

…


	8. Fourth Hour: Together

**Fourth Hour: Together**

Romano lay back on the wide couch; his messed-up shirt sat in a plastic bag near the front door, jacket on the back of the couch. He hoped he hadn't frightened the skittish Brit with his suggestion of a shared shower, but _dammit_ , he'd been so hot! The way he'd just grabbed Romano and kissed him after their food fight, with no preamble…he'd known exactly what he wanted, and had taken it…he really _was_ a pirate…

He was lost in a little romantic reverie when England came down the steps, carrying his own sticky shirt. The island nation smiled, at first softly, then more eagerly when he saw Romano's answering grin. He threw the balled-up shirt on the floor and crossed to the couch.

"Here, lie down," the brunet said, scooting over a bit. England complied, snuggling up. Before he could say anything, Romano grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him close for a kiss.

"Ah – ah – no," England responded, teasingly, drawing back.

Romano panicked inside, but tried not to show it. "What – did I –" He stopped talking as he felt the cool fingertips on his lips, then moving to skate down his arm, so slowly, so teasingly; England's sweet smile reassured him.

"I want to show you that I learned something today." He drew his face closer, continuing to stroke the Italian's arm, and his elegant voice dropped to a more seductive register. "I want to please my teacher." He touched their foreheads together. " _Am_ I pleasing you? Did I learn well?" he asked, with a hint of smugness in his voice. His lips brushed Romano's as he spoke; he pressed forward into a strong kiss.

Romano responded in kind, slowly wrapping his arms around the bastard, tasting his lips, sliding his palms up and down his bare back. The blond's soft moans encouraged him, and the half-nation stroked his tongue along his lips. England parted his mouth willingly and they tangled their tongues together, tasting each other, melting into each other, for several moments, before the island nation pulled away again. "So? _Did_ I learn well?" he asked softly.

"Huh," Romano huffed. "I think you know the answer to that already, bast–England."

The blond grinned. "You can keep calling me 'bastard' if you like. It sounds kind of sexy the way you say it, when you're panting in my arms."

Romano was panting – just a little bit, of course, but so was England – and he reached his hand up to stroke his partner's cheek. "Hey – will you tell me something?"

"Sure, what?"

"Who – who's the lucky person you want to go out with?" He looked away, pretending it didn't matter, but he knew it did.

England stared at him, and then started laughing. "It's you, of course!" He punched Romano weakly on the shoulder.

Now it was Romano's turn to boggle. "You – you're not kidding, are you?"

England shook his head. "How could I be like this with you, if there were someone else?" He snuggled up against Romano, hearts beating together. "No. Not kidding at all."

"But how did Denmark – did you tell this to Denmark?"

"You know, I'm not even sure how that happened. I could have sworn I didn't mention your name. I told him I had a crush on someone" – here he kissed Romano's nose – "and the next thing I knew, we were talking to you about kissing lessons. Is it any wonder I was so nervous?"

Romano's gaze softened as he looked at his new friend. His new boyfriend? "You were so adorable, blushing the whole time," he offered, wondering. "Who knew you had such fire in you?"

"Adorable?" England started blushing again, and Romano pulled him in for another passionate kiss. When they broke apart, the blond rested their foreheads together again. "Er – so – will you go out with me?"

After the events of their day, this struck Romano as an anticlimax, and he began to laugh, holding the island nation, who saw the funny side of it too and relaxed against him. "Hell, yes," he answered. "I want to find out what other mysteries are hiding behind those beautiful green eyes, dammit." He kissed each of England's eyelids, and then his lips again.

"You _are_ a demon," England breathed, when they broke apart.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing…just a little bet I'd made with myself."

"Did you win?"

"How could I lose?" They smiled at each other. England propped himself up on one elbow and trailed his fingertips over Romano's bare chest, watched as the amber eyes darkened with desire. As he leaned in towards his lips again, the doorbell rang.

"Shit!" They sprang apart guiltily; England leaped off the couch to grab his hoodie and throw it on; Romano scrambled for his own jacket. By the time Denmark entered the room – with Prussia in tow – the new boyfriends were sitting sedately on the couch, fully-clothed, several inches apart from each other, each twisting his fingers in his lap. Romano was staring at his fingers, England at the wall.

"Hey, you guys!" Denmark bounced in, pulling Prussia along. "How did it go?"

"Er...fine?" England offered, not looking at them.

"How did what go?" Prussia asked. "Hey, Romano, hey Iggy. Didn't expect to see _you_ here."

"Albino potato," Romano acknowledged. He stood up; his eyes went straight to England's shirt, still wadded up on the floor, but neither Denmark nor Prussia seemed to notice it.

"How did what go?" Prussia repeated.

"Nothing," England barked at him. "I, I've got to go."

"Ah, don't! We had some nice stuff to eat at Austria's place, and Prussia and I decided to come home and bake a cake. Come on in the kitchen and help!"

Romano and England looked at each other in a panic.

"Sorry, no, gotta go!" Both of them ran out the door, England scooping up his shirt on the way out. "See you later!"

Prussia stared after them in confusion. "What the hell?"

"Ah, never mind," Denmark smiled. "I think they had a good day."


	9. The Date

**The Date.**

They're supposed to go to dinner, and then an outdoor concert together; just a local thing in a park. England is moderately nervous – sure, he and Romano had a great kissing lesson last week (his lips curl up in memory, in desire) – but this is an actual date _._ He wants it to go well.

The bands playing at the concert are just local groups, nobody famous, so it will be low-key enough for them to spend a little relaxing time together before Romano has to get back home. England checks himself in the mirror one last time: jeans, boots…does he have too many chains on his belt? Union Jack muscle shirt, black leather jacket thrown over his shoulder. His typical punk gear. Yeah, it looks all right. He musses up his hair some more and goes downstairs to wait.

…

Romano felt a little nervous, too. Not sure he'd like the music (or the food). Not sure he and England could really have a relationship, other than their mutual desire for each other ( _but that might just be enough_ , he admitted, remembering the heated desire that had blossomed last week). But he was willing to give it a try. He rang England's doorbell and stood there worrying his lower lip in his teeth.

England answered the door. _Dear Lord,_ Romano thought immediately, gaze sweeping the Brit. Could those pants be any tighter? He tried not to stare, but the blond looked dangerous, rough, and extraordinarily hot. He felt his breath catch.

"Hi," England offered coolly, seemingly oblivious to his inner turmoil. "Come in."

Romano pushed him backwards into the hallway, perhaps a little too roughly. "We – we need to talk, bastard," he stammered out. England's face froze. The half-nation realized immediately that he'd approached this wrong, and stepped forward to apologize. "No, I'm sorry, that was kind of abrupt. Didn't mean it to sound that way. How are you?" He put his arms around his friend's neck and they stood together, at first just holding each other.

England leaned shyly forward for a gentle kiss. "Missing you," he said quietly; Romano deepened the kiss.

He then drew back from the island nation and looked him in the eye. "Me too," he murmured. "More than I expected to. I'm glad to finally see you again." They kissed again briefly. "But listen… there is something you need to know, before we go out. I can't – I'm not a public kind of date." Romano scrubbed his cheeks with his palms and looked away. "I mean, I don't like all that hand-holding and snuggling and shit out in public. What we do behind closed doors" – he gave a mischievous grin – "that's different. But in public, I'd like us to just act like friends, okay?" He held his breath, hoping this demand wouldn't offend England.

"Sure, I can live with that. It would be nice to show off to everyone just how hot my new Italian boyfriend is" (cue Romano blush) "but… I don't have to. Er – we are behind closed doors at the moment, though," England pointed out archly, and Romano slid his hands into the messed-up hair, pulling him close for a rough dominating kiss.

…

Dinner was interesting, to say the least. England had chosen an Indian restaurant. This really surprised Romano, who had no problem at all with Indian food; he simply assumed that his partner was too embarrassed to take him out for English food. Well, that came as a little relief; from everything he'd heard, English food was nothing to get excited about. He savored his chicken tikka masala, enjoying the creamy tomato flavor. Hey, if you could get good tomatoes in England, the food couldn't be all bad.

The conversation flowed easily. This was pretty reassuring to Romano. He'd spent all week wondering whether this was just a, a lustful attraction. Not that he'd break it off (yet) if it was, but…it was relaxing to see that the two of them were actually enjoying each other's company, and not having to talk about work, either.

"So this concert," he asked. "Rock and roll, I'm guessing, from your outfit?" He cursed inwardly as he felt the blush start up again. "Do you, uh, do you always dress like that, bastard?"

England tilted his head to the side. "I often do when I'm going out. Obviously not when I'm working." Dammit. Romano could just imagine the uproar if the bastard came to a world meeting dressed like this. "Do you like it?" he continued, somewhat coyly.

Romano's only response to that was a strangled "Uh."

England chuckled. "Yes, it is rock and roll. There are three local bands; they're just using one of the city parks for the evening."

"Do they have to get permits and shit, before they do it?" Romano found this interesting; in Italy you'd never get rock bands playing in public parks.

"Yes, but it's fairly easy to get the permits. People in the area have plenty of time to make plans elsewhere, if they think the noise will bother them."

"Does that happen a lot? People leaving the area? Seems a shame that they'd have to go out of the house just to escape the noise pollution."

"Hey, it's not pollution!" England laughed. "British rock is the best rock and roll on the planet."

"Cheh, don't let America hear you say that."

"Actually, he's not too bad about it. It's bloody Australia who keeps trying to dominate."

"Huh." Romano thought for a moment. "I don't even know any Australian bands."

England smirked. "But I bet you don't really know any English ones, either, do you?"

"Of course I do! There – there's the Beatles, right, and…and the, the Rolling Stones?"

"Those are English, yes," he laughed at Romano's panicked face, "but they're like the granddaddies of rock, now. We have a _lot_ of rock bands."

"Whatever," Romano scoffed, embarrassed at his lack of knowledge. Well, at least he'd known someone _._

"Ah, I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

"Do we, are we supposed to dance?" Romano speared a piece of chicken.

"People do get up and dance quite often. We don't have to, if you don't want to."

"I'm not a dancer, bastard."

"I admit I can't quite envision you jumping around out there."

"Do you? Dance, I mean?" Huh, that could be… _interesting._ In those pants...

England fiddled with his fork, reddening. "Well. Not in the public parks, no. In bars, sometimes, depending whom I'm with…"

"You mean like Denmark? You said you drink with him a lot."

"If I'm just with Denmark, then yeah, sometimes we dance. But if Prussia's with us, I just end up drinking all night. That git just inspires overkill, I guess."

"Tell me about it," Romano snorted. There was a pause while the waiter refilled their water glasses. He was actually surprised that the Brit wasn't drinking tea. It was a product of India, after all – not that he'd spent any time researching the history of tea this past week. Romano had opted for water because he didn't want to get drunk and miss out on anything tonight. "How about other nations?" he went on. "Do you ever go out, you know, to bars or whatever, with them?"

England rolled his eyes. "With America sometimes, though he's so wrapped up in his own little bubble that it's not much fun for me anymore. And, and the frog, now and again, though these days he usually brings – er – Spain along." England looked down at the table, frowning. "Sorry."

Romano had wondered how long it would take for the specter of Spain to rear its head. "Don't worry about it, bastard. All that was a long time ago, and the man is, frankly, a fucking idiot." He smiled at England sweetly.

"Well, you're here with me, not him, so I wasn't really worried. Let's get going. The Tube might be crowded at this time of night; we might have to wait for a second train." He threw some bills on the table to pay for the meal and stood up, grabbing his jacket. Romano followed suit. As they walked out the door, smiling to the hostess, Romano felt England's hand brush against his, and had to fight not to grab his hand. Argh, how stupid would that be, right after he'd said _no lovey shit_?

…

The music was loud and fun, Romano had to admit. Some people were dancing in the park, others, like the two of them, simply sitting on blankets, enjoying the sights and sounds. England had picked up a flyer listing the three bands for the evening, and Romano idly turned it over, occasionally turning to glance at his friend. He kept catching himself licking his lips as he stared. Dammit, this was frustrating. They couldn't even have a conversation, because the music was too loud. Not without snuggling up close, which he didn't want to risk. He could just picture them snuggling together, murmuring to each other – and then jumping on each other...Blinking, he tried to clear his mind of these images.

England caught him staring and got a tiny frown between his eyes. He looked like wanted to talk, but the music was still intruding. Then he took the flyer from Romano's hands and turned to a couple near him, asking for something. The man handed him a pencil and the blond scribbled on the flyer before handing it over. " _Please_ stop licking your lips or I will have to attack you whether we're in public or not," Romano read.

He flushed, looked over to England with an almost hopeless look of desire, and then gestured weakly for the pencil.

"But you look so _delizioso,_ " he wrote, handing the paper back, licking his lips again. England smiled brightly. _Really?_ he mouthed. Romano nodded fervently, eyes wide. The blond moved subtly closer to him on the blanket, close enough that they could touch hands. He parted his lips and flicked the tip of his tongue between his teeth daringly, a very tiny teasing gesture. Romano closed his eyes and sighed, shivering.

When he opened his eyes again, England jerked his head towards the exit, and the Italian nodded. They gathered up the thin picnic blanket and the flyer, threw the pencil back to the couple, and hurriedly left the park.

"Do you want to go anywhere else, or just go back to my place?" England breathed, and Romano gave him a look which he hoped left no doubt at all. They hurried to the Tube station. Romano really, really wanted to hold the bastard's hand, to touch his cool skin somewhere, but forced himself to behave.

The train platform was crowded. He grabbed England's jacket sleeve so they wouldn't be pushed apart. Finally the correct train came and the two of them managed to squeeze onto it, although there were no seats left. Pressure from the other travelers pushed them against each other, chest to chest, cheek to cheek. Romano could feel his heart beating strongly, slowly, and wondered whether the blond could feel it too. They were almost more intimately touching, here in the middle of this crowd, than they had been on Denmark's couch last week. He took a deep breath and pressed a little closer, savoring the secret feel of England's strong body warm against his own. From the rosy stain on his friend's cheeks, from the way the island nation wouldn't meet his gaze, Romano surmised that his host was feeling much the same way.


	10. Panic Attack

**Panic Attack.**

As they walked from the station back to England's townhouse, he grabbed Romano by the wrist, dragging him along the street – but that was all right with the Italian, since he wasn't doing it in a boyfriend kind of way. In fact, to an onlooker it would probably seem like England was angry. He smirked; the island nation was obviously eager to be alone with him. He really had to run to keep up. It wasn't yet dark out, but twilight had settled in, and street lamps were beginning to come on.

England dragged him right up the front steps and into the hallway, slamming the door behind them, flinging his leather jacket onto the floor. _Dammit,_ Romano thought, _he's even more on fire than I am!_ He reached out for England, whose reaction scared the hell out of him.

"What the bloody hell were you doing back there?" the blond yelled. "Pressing up against me like that – everybody on the blasted train was looking at us!"

Romano could only stand there with his mouth agape. "Huh?"

"Don't 'huh' me! All that bloody 'don't touch me' garbage before we left, and then you pull a cheap stunt like that?"

"Now wait a minute," Romano snapped, eyes narrowing. "There were hundreds of people on the fucking train! What did you expect me to do?" He took off his jacket and threw it over the sofa.

"Anything! Maintain a little personal space! Nobody does that kind of stuff on a train."

"Fine, bastard. Maybe you'd prefer it if I pressed myself up against that fat guy in the business suit? There wasn't any room _._ Next time that's what I'll do. Chigi!" He stood fuming, staring at England, who suddenly began to look a little worried.

"O-oh." He pushed his hands through his hair and looked at the floor. "I – bollocks, Romano, I'm sorry. I – those trains get so crowded –"

" _Sorry_ isn't going to cut it, dammit." Romano had worked himself into a snit over this and wasn't about to let it go.

"But it's just –" England covered his red face with his hands and drew a deep, shuddering breath.

"Bastard?" Romano asked hesitantly. Was he, was he crying?

"It's these blasted jeans!" England yelled. "They're too bloody tight, and when you push up against me—"

Romano actually snorted. "Cheh, if that's all you're worried about!" He reached out a hand towards England, and the blond grabbed it like a lifeline.

"I really am sorry I yelled at you," he muttered brokenly. "It felt so good – but, Romano, you –"

 _"Hey, Iggy!"_

Romano and England both froze in panic, and then England dropped Romano's hand like a hot potato. "America?" he called out weakly, then swallowing, clearing his throat, louder, "America?"

"What the fuck is that idiot doing here, bastard?" Romano's voice was a stage whisper. He could feel the blood draining away from his face as he hid his hands guiltily behind his back.

"How the hell should I know? I don't even know how he got in here! He doesn't have a key!"

America strode into the front room waving a baseball hat. "Hey, Iggy. Oh, hi, Romano. You okay?" he asked the Italian. "You look a little pale."

Romano just gawked at him, but America seemed oblivious.

"What – you – what the – " England choked out.

"I just dropped by to pick up my baseball hat, okay? Must have forgotten it last time I was here. I broke in through the powder room window." He settled the hat onto his blond hair backwards, pointing towards the powder room. "How do I look?"

"You – you broke – the – the bloody window?" England's voice trailed off. And Romano still stood frozen, mouth gaping. He shut it.

"Naw, I just picked the lock a little. My hat was still in the kitchen, so I just slipped in to get it. Thanks, Iggy! See you later, Romano!" America moved to the door.

"Wait – where – you –" England still couldn't speak in complete sentences. Romano might have found it funny, if he wasn't freaking out himself.

"Oh! Belgium and I have a date. I'm taking her to the Tokyo International Film Festival. She's so cute! I'll see you guys later, all right? Wish me luck!" America bounced out the front door, closing it behind him.

For about sixty seconds, neither England nor Romano was able to move.

"Uh – wha – " Romano finally managed to clear his throat. "What the fuck? Belgium, seriously? With _America?_ "

England sank onto the couch, head in hands. "Bloody hell. What a wanker. What a turnip-headed wanker."

"Hey, it's all right _now_ ," Romano countered, going to lock the front door. "At least he's gone." He came back and plopped down next to his boyfriend.

"But what if he comes back? Hell…if America is able to pick my lock, who else might start breaking in? Prussia? Bollocks." England tipped his head onto the back of the sofa. "I'll never feel safe in this house again," he whined melodramatically.

Romano agreed. "Do you, do you suppose he heard us?" he asked, warily.

England's eyes snapped open. "Oh, no…all that yelling about us pressing together…my stupid bloody trousers…"

Oh, yeah. Romano's attention was drawn back to England's tight outfit. "About that – I, uh, I might have an idea…" He grinned, America forgotten.

...

 _Please insert your own M-rated fantasy here._


	11. Land of Hope and Glory

**Land of Hope and Glory.**

" _Wider still and wider shall thy bounds be set; God, who made thee mighty, make thee mightier yet!"_

Romano awoke in a pool of bleak English sunlight to the sound of singing. Quite good singing, deep and nearly operatic. He stretched comfortably and rolled over, realizing when he saw the empty bed that it was England singing, his rich voice rolling the lyrics. Romano smiled lazily. He was going to have to do something really nice for Denmark.

And he smelled _coffee!_ But how could that be? Surely England would be drinking tea. What time was it, anyway? Romano looked at the clock and groaned, rolling over again. Nearly noon, dammit; well, at least he hadn't had any plans for the day.

"Hey, bastard!" he called out.

"I'll be right there," his friend called back. In another moment England came sailing happily through the bedroom door in jeans and a t-shirt, humming his song, bearing a tray with biscotti and a cup of coffee, with a copy of yesterday's _Il Messaggero_ tucked under the saucer. "Your breakfast, sir," he said dramatically, rolling his r's, setting the tray on the nightstand and sweeping into a bow like a proper English butler.

Romano sat up. "What the hell's all this? Where'd you get the coffee?"

England slithered onto the bed, propping himself up on his elbows. "You weren't waking up, so I got bored and went out for everything. I wanted to do something nice for you."

"Believe me, bastard, you already did." He rolled onto his side and smirked when he saw his friend's blush. "Kiss me, dammit." As they kissed, Romano became very aware that he was still naked while England was fully dressed, and also, that he hadn't had a chance to shower yet this morning. "I'd like to take a shower, all right?"

England just nodded and pointed to the bathroom. "There are towels in there already. I'd join you, but I showered while you were asleep. Sorry."

"Don't worry, we'll get to it at some point," Romano said, and kissed him again. Dammit, he really needed to get out of this bed. He stood up, debated whether to cover himself, and decided just to walk to the bathroom naked. He could sense the appraising green eyes on him, and felt his face get hot as he walked away.

…

When he came back, towel around his waist, England was asleep again. He looked so relaxed, and just so fucking cute. Romano reached down and lightly ruffled his messy hair, and England opened his eyes and smiled. "Hi."

"Do you want to go back to sleep?"

"Eh, no, I'm all right. Just a little drowsy." He rolled over and stretched again. "Did you know you left bite marks all over my body?"

"Mm. You were delicious." Romano, feeling proud of himself, pulled on his Italian flag underwear with a brief snort of irritation. He'd been so stupidly conflicted about underwear yesterday; damn that albino potato! He then slid back onto the bed, picking up the coffee and the plate of biscotti. "So...uh…you – did you – enjoy it?" He was completely unconcerned about the answer, of course, but thought he might as well ask.

"Hmm," the island nation replied, mockingly analyzing, counting off on his fingers. "Well, dinner, fine; concert also; train ride actually very arousing, fighting about it ditto; interruption by America hideous; I'm not too happy about you ripping my favorite jeans, but what the hell, it was worth it; the kissing was great; the sex was phenomenal; and, oh, the actual sleeping part was nice too."

Romano had to put the coffee cup down, he was laughing so hard. "Seriously, bastard, you liked it or what?"

"Of course I did! I want to do it all over again. You're bloody awesome, and I don't just mean in bed. I want to have a lot of fun with you."

Romano reached out a hand to stroke the blond bangs off England's forehead, kissed him there, and then they simply held each other close for a while. This was really sweet, dammit. This was a – a great way to feel.

"Well," England murmured drowsily, "I don't want America interrupting us anymore. But other than that, I want to do it all over again."

"Mm. Yeah."


	12. Winter Kills

**Winter Kills.**

"This damn tree is always so bleak in winter," Prussia grumbled. Early in the afternoon, they had no plans at all. "And it's so cold today."

"Ah, you're always grumbling about something, just give it up." Romano felt extremely irritated. He'd hoped to do something with England today, forgetting that he was supposed to meet Denmark and Prussia. Well, he could always see the Brit tomorrow, but he was still irritated. He sat on the hard ground, back against the oak's trunk, chin in hands, elbows on knees.

"So what are we going to do today?" Denmark stamped his feet, trying to warm up. "Coffee?"

"Coffee works for me, dammit. Come on." He hopped up and they walked off towards the coffee shop. "Just make sure you get decaf, albino potato."

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry about me," Prussia started. "Anyway, France and Spain are going to a new dance club tonight. I wondered whether we could all go too." He eyed Denmark, then Romano, who snorted.

"Why would I want to go where those bastards are?" But then Romano had a great idea. Uh, maybe a great idea. He could invite England. Nobody would suspect they were there together. If all the other nations were around, it would simply seem coincidental. (Even the Skirmish bastards didn't know they were dating, yet.) The memory of England in his punk outfit didn't sway Romano at all. And then, maybe they could figure out what to do to show Denmark their appreciation…and he could get away from Spain more easily…"Uh…yeah."

"Yeah what?"

Denmark was looking at him a little funny, so Romano just shrugged. "Yeah, let's go to this dance club, I mean. I want to hang out with you guys. What's the club called?"

"Barracuda," Prussia laughed, making chomping motions with his teeth. "Kesesese! It's in downtown Paris."

"I've got to change, though." Romano looked distastefully at his nondescript clothes. "Are you going to go, Den? Come on, you should go."

Denmark looked over at Prussia and then laughed and agreed. "You know how I like to dance!"

"Well, actually I don't know. I've never been drinking with you bastards before, remember? That's why we don't have 'boozers' in our fucking awesome team name?"

Denmark just laughed. "You'll have fun. Huh, too bad England can't be there, he's so much fun at bars." Romano schooled his face in time, and he was certain he gave nothing away.

"Give him a call," said Prussia. "We haven't been together in a while. Tell him to wear those black jeans, kesesese."

The brunet fought to hide a smirk. Those black jeans that he'd ripped in half, in his frenzy, last month?

Denmark looked at Romano in concern. "Are you really sure you want to go? I somehow can't imagine you at a dance club."

"Cheh, don't worry about me. I'll be all right. It's just a bar, yeah? I don't have to dance. What the fuck could go wrong?"

"Okay!" Prussia started to lope off. "I'll see you guys there later? Right, see ya!"

"Hey, what about the coffee?" Denmark yelled. Prussia just waved and walked on. "Well, that was abrupt." The Viking sounded pretty pissed off.

"What do you expect from that idiot? He has no social manners at all." Romano led the way into the coffee shop.

Den cleared his throat. "Hang on, let me call England."

"Whatever." The brunet shrugged and paced around the coffee shop while they waited for their drinks, so he wouldn't start blushing and look romantically stupid while England was on the other end of the phone.

"Hey, it's me, Den. Yeah, we're going to a new club in Paris tonight, Barracuda, wanna come?...Well, it was Prussia's idea." A series of squawks erupted from the phone, and Denmark laughed. "No, come on, I'll be there…France and Spain, according to Prussia" – more squeaking – "Yeah, Romano's here, he said he'd go too."

Romano held his breath, still facing the other direction.

"Great! All right, you think you can find it yourself? Right, see you there…Right…Hang on, yeah." Denmark handed the phone to Romano. "He wants to ask you something."

"Yeah, it's me, bastard," he tried to say nonchalantly into the phone, keeping his back to Denmark, praying England wouldn't start the sweet talk and make him feel stupid. "You going?"

"Of course I'll go. I don't care if I have to put up with all those other gits, if you'll be there." England's voice was warm.

"Don't – just – don't, dammit. Okay, I – we'll see you there?"

"Yes…may I stay at your place tonight?"

"Chigi! Not now!" He scrubbed his free hand over his face. "But, yeah, all right, whatever."

"Thanks. Guess what, I got a pair of new trousers, just for you…wait until you see them!"

"Forget it! Shut up. Here, I'm giving the phone back to Denmark, idiot."

"Right, see you later."

"Everything okay, England? Yeah, sure…yeah, you know Romano, he'll get over it…See ya!" After ending the call, Den stuffed the phone in his pocket, and the two of them drank their coffee before splitting up to go home and get ready for a night on the town.


	13. Hit Me With Your Best Shot

**Hit Me With Your Best Shot.**

England entered the club almost swaggering. Tonight was going to be fantastic. To be at a dance club with Romano! Er – well – he wasn't planning to do anything personal there, certainly nothing to embarrass either of them – but, ha. He suddenly had a great idea. He would sing to Romano all night, quietly, softly, so that no one else would know. Just the love songs, of course _._

He pushed through the dancing crowd, listening to the music, looking for Denmark's spiky hair. It would probably be easier to spot him in the crowd than Romano's shorter frame. Before he got very far he felt a hand on his arse, and he knew by the way it squeezed him that it was not Romano. "Get off, you bloody frog," he growled, without looking around.

"Ah, _mon cher_ , I would love to 'get off,' and you are wearing leather pants! _Merde_ , that's awesome, as _cher_ Prussia would say."

England spun to face him. "Maybe I should have said 'beat it,'" and then his face flamed as France smirked. Before he could speak again, the island nation pushed him aside, saying, "Just – just don't. Just go find someone else to grope. Go find Spain. Keep him away from me tonight."

France shrugged. "If you say so, _mon cher_ , but you know, if you are going home lonely tonight, I am more than happy to oblige!"

"That's not going to happen," England said, still scanning the crowd.

"If you are looking for _Danemark_ , he's over at the bar with the others."

"Thanks," England said, walking off towards the bar. Romano must be a great calming influence on him, he reflected, if he could now have a conversation with Francy-pants – after the tosser had grabbed him in the arse! – and not blow up.

Yeah, there was Denmark, and Prussia, and Romano, the latter all dressed in black, trying desperately to avoid the attentions of Spain, busy pushing a drink at him. Romano kept pushing it away, kept scanning the crowd, and then his eyes lit on England and froze. The Brit quirked a little smile at him, and Romano blushed. Nobody near him seemed to notice.

"Hey, gits," England said, coming into the group, sliding himself in next to the half-nation completely arbitrarily.

"Great, you made it!" Prussia high-fived him, but Denmark looked from him to Romano. It was a subtle look, which the albino missed, but both the others knew they were under scrutiny. Neither of them had told the Viking about the outcome of their kissing lessons, yet.

"Get me a drink," England said to Prussia. To Spain he turned and said, "Can't you go find the frog or something? You're crowding me."

To Romano, an experienced Spain-watcher, the tells were evident – a sudden twitch in the eye, lips pressed together – but Spain apparently wasn't drunk enough yet to take on his old enemy for no apparent reason, and he just cocked an eyebrow and started to move away, taking Romano by the arm as he left.

The Italian jerked his arm out of Spain's grasp. "Go find France and do whatever it is the two of you do together." His voice was venomous, just as always when dealing with Spain. He stood fractionally closer to England, seeking protection.

England put his arm around Romano, who stiffened, but the Brit just used his arm to scoop him towards the bar, away from Spain. "Have a drink," he suggested. Romano raised his glass to show his Bloody-Mary-in-progress. Prussia finally returned with England's drink.

After turning to scan the room for the threat of Spain – who had silently melted into the crowd – England turned back. Both Prussia and Denmark were looking at him with wide-eyed disbelief. Romano kept trying to act nonchalant, and looked past the bartender to watch his friend in the big bar mirror, but he couldn't tell what was making the other bastards freak out.

"What?" the island nation asked them.

"You're wearing leather pants!" Prussia yelled. "Kesesese! That is so damn hot. Turn around; let me look again!" Even Denmark looked intrigued, and England smirked, pushing his hand through his hair as he turned like a model on the catwalk.

Dammit _._ Romano couldn't even make himself turn around. He knew his face was tomato-red. He could feel England laughing behind him, spinning around to show off to the others.

Den grinned. "You in the market for a lover?"

Romano couldn't look away from his drink, couldn't look at England or anyone else right now. He buried his nose in the glass and drank deeply. Ah, that was good; the ice would cool him off a little.

"I'll be your lover," Prussia chortled, "damn, you are looking sweet _,_ Iggy."

"Ah, shut up, Prussia. Let's just go dance. Come on, England! And Romano!" Den grabbed them each by an arm and yanked.

"I'll be over in a bit," England laughed, yanking back. "Give me a break, I just got here." When the other two had moved off, he turned towards Romano and murmured, "Now you see why I don't like going anywhere with him?"

"Chigi! If you hadn't worn fucking – fucking leather pants, he wouldn't be doing this, bastard," Romano choked out, his throat tight.

"But I wore them for you," England whispered in mock injury. "Did you even look?" Well, Romano had to look, after a challenge like that, and when he did, he let a little smirk curl the corner of his mouth before turning away.

"They're going to be a lot harder to rip off than jeans," England pointed out.

"Heh, I'll get them off you somehow." Romano tried to be offhand with this comment, but had to bury his face in his glass again to conceal his mad blush.

England just laughed. "Bloody hell, I'm glad you're here. Tonight's going to be so much fun." He grabbed Romano's hand surreptitiously and gave it a quick squeeze before downing the rest of his drink. "Will you dance with me?"

"Cheh, maybe, not yet, though. I don't know."

"Well, 'maybe' is better than nothing, I guess."

Denmark and Prussia were jumping around the dance floor like madmen. Romano and England watched them from the sidelines for a while, leaning against each other, drinking, talking. The brunet knew Spain would be back at some point, but he hoped England would assist him in giving the idiot the brush-off. He sat on a barstool and leaned back against the bar.

"Here's a nice slow song by our American friends," the band's singer said. England waited to hear what the song was, and then leaned over to sing along, right into Romano's ear, deeply, softly.

 _Before you slip into unconsciousness  
_ _I'd like to have another kiss  
_ _Another flashing chance at bliss, another kiss…_

Even in the flashing dance lights, Romano's blush was visible. He saw the people on the dance floor swaying hypnotically to the slow heavy beat, people working at the bar stopping work to listen. Conversations died down temporarily. England's deep singing voice poured secretly into Romano's ear like warm honey, spreading through his whole body. He didn't know this song, but the way his friend sang it was haunting. He felt a rush of pride and affection (and yes, arousal) as he listened, not moving.

When the song ended, the entire crowd erupted in applause. The singer stood forward and thanked the crowd. "Hell, yeah! Tonight is gonna be awesome!" Screams, people jumping and waving their arms for more. Romano's grin grew and he leaned back against the bar to enjoy the show. Apparently this Barracuda was going to be a very popular place.

"Hey, git, I'm going to ask them to play something special for me to sing to you. Will you be all right? I'll be right back."

"Not – not singing on the stage?" Romano got a bit nervous at the idea of England publicly acknowledging their relationship.

"No, I just meant for me to sing into your ear again."

He nodded with a subtle smile and England slipped off to the stage. Just then, someone approached Romano from the side, almost as though he'd been waiting for the blond to leave; it had to be Spain, didn't it? Or France, or both.

"Ah, _cher_ Romano, you are all alone! Your heartless friends have left you here?" France slipped an arm around Romano's waist and snuggled in close on the left. The brunet stiffened as he felt Spain move in on the other side.

Spain put his chin on Romano's shoulder. " _Hola, mi tomatito_ , why are you so alone?" His breath smelled extremely alcoholic, and he caressed Romano's cheek with one hand, the other holding a drink.

"Get off me, bastard," he snarled, pushing his hand into Spain's face, trying to shove him away and escape France's groping hand at the same time.

But France and Spain were old experts at double-teaming, and soon they had Romano boxed in and angry as hell. England had just begun sauntering back towards them, singing along with the band, but when he caught sight of Spain molesting Romano, he stormed towards them in incandescent rage. He glared at Spain with fire in his eyes and growled something that was drowned out by the music.

Prussia and Denmark were still dancing. "Pirate fight! Kesesese!" Prussia yelled excitedly to Denmark. They turned to watch, while continuing to dance.

Romano shook in fear, a little, as a circle of people widened around him, France, Spain and England.

"Get the hell off Romano, you – you –" The blond grabbed Spain by the collar and flung him aside; he fell into a heap on the floor.

" _Angleterre!_ What's the matter with you? _Espagne_ was simply spending some time with his _cher_ Romano, whom I might add had been abandoned by you and your crazy friends."

England ignored him and stood over Spain, making a growling noise in his throat.

" _Angleterre!_ " France grabbed England's arm. England shook him off easily, without looking around.

"Get off him, France," Romano said, setting his drink down, trying to make his voice menacing. He reached for the Frenchman's arm, trying to grab it, but France slipped out of his grip.

"What the hell are you doing, _Inglaterra_? I just want to talk to Romano!" Spain whimpered a little, getting off the floor, but not coming any closer to the irate Englishman.

"Romano doesn't want to talk to _you_."

Spain jumped on England with a murderous yell. The two of them immediately went at it far beyond any of their previous fights, screaming, snarling, fists pounding, kicking. Romano and France both stood back, at this point just trying to stay out of the way. Patrons stood in a circle, cheering them on drunkenly.

It looked like an almost even match. Spain was drunker, but those pants were harder for England to move in. Then somehow Spain managed to sit on his opponent and punch him in the nose repeatedly; blood began flowing onto England's shirt. The blond struggled, but Spain kept him pinned down, punching and punching.

Romano's heart was pounding. "Get up!" he yelled. England struggled a bit and managed to shove Spain off, but he jumped back on top, pounding the island nation.

"What the hell has gotten into the _rosbif_?" France breathed. "And can't you stop them, Romano?"

"Why should I?" Romano tried to smirk with confidence, though his heart was sinking. "England's kicked Spain's ass before, he'll do it again, right?"

France was taken aback by this. Spain heard it too, and stopped punching to cry out, "No, Romano!"

But England had heard it too, and it gave him the energy to tap into his deliriously happy fighting zone. He flung Spain off him, jumped on top of him, and pounded him into the floor. Then he grabbed Spain's bangs and began whacking his head on the floor…up, down, up, down...

"Stay – away – from – Romano!" With each whack of Spain's head on the floor, England's laugh grew stronger and crazier; Spain just moaned in pain. Romano, relieved, started to breathe again.

Up on stage, the band had finished singing, and they were all staring at the fight, just like everyone else in the place. "What the hell's going on?" the singer asked into the microphone.

This seemed to snap Denmark out of his daze. "Come on, we've got to stop this," he said, grabbing Prussia's hand.

When they reached the melee, Denmark easily stopped the fight by putting his arms around England's waist and pulling him off his opponent. "Bollocks! Let go! Who the –" He turned to see Denmark. "Oh, Den, let me kill this wanker, finally, please _._ " He struggled a little, but not very effectively; Denmark's grip was like iron.

France and Prussia tried to restrain Spain from leaping on England again, and the manager of the club had begun pushing through the crowd towards them. England had a nosebleed and was favoring his right leg. Spain's clothes were torn, and he'd be sporting a magnificent shiner in the morning if he didn't get ice on it right away. He was also cradling his right hand. His clothing had blood all over it, but Romano couldn't tell whose it was. He didn't see any visible cuts on Spain, so he suspected it was from England's nose.

"Please, _messieurs_ ," the manager said, "it is unseemly to brawl like this."

" _D'accord_ ," France put in acidly, and took Spain's arm. "I'll see to this one." He threw a very dirty look at the remaining group and walked off supporting a limping Spain, who gave Romano one last pleading look. The Italian, heart still pounding, stared back at him, disgusted, before turning back to England in concern.

Denmark squeezed England around the waist. "Can I set you down now?"

"Yes, all right. That bloody tosser. Could you please get me a damp cloth to clean up with?" England asked the manager. He turned to Romano. "Are you all right? Bloody hell, I could kill that bastard." He even snarled a little bit, looking in the direction France had taken Spain.

No one had ever fought for Romano that way. His adrenaline was still pumping, and he now understood how England could get so aroused by fighting, as he had in Denmark's kitchen. Heedless of the watching crowds, of the blood, he grabbed England by the shoulders and planted a hard, fierce kiss on his lips. England's eyes widened, but he returned the kiss.

Den's voice broke into their isolation. "Yes! You owe me a hundred Euros, Prussia!"

The island nation drew back. "You what?"

"You bastards! What are you betting on? _Chigi!_ " Romano suddenly realized what he'd done and turned red, covering his face with his hand. Prussia simply stood there with his mouth open in shock.

"Don't give him any money, Prussia. He had inside information." England was still breathing heavily, a little, but Romano just sighed and looked off into the distance, feeling like an idiot.

The manager returned with a cloth, which he handed to England wordlessly, and then he returned to the bar. The blond smiled bravely at Romano, first cleaning the Italian's face, then mopping up his own. "I hope I didn't embarrass you," he said quietly.

Romano's eyes widened. "You kicked his ass _,_ bastard! It was, well, it was awesome." He blew out a sigh. "Will you sing to me some more?" He stroked England's cheek tenderly. "Or do you want to go home?"

"Of course I'll sing to you," England said sweetly. "If you like."

"Yes, please." Romano kissed him again, subtly, under the ear, not even caring if the albino potato was watching.

The club had settled down; people were dancing again. Romano sat on a barstool, listening to his battered friend singing to him, drinking a glass of club soda and letting the music wash over him like a web of safety.

"Let's go home now," he suggested when the song ended. "You fought so bravely for me, and you sang so beautifully. Let's go clean you up and get some rest."

England nodded. "Are you all right? Anything else bothering you?"

"Just you," Romano grinned. "I want to get a better look at you in those pants."

The blond threw back his head and laughed, throwing his arm around Romano's shoulders, and they left the nightclub together.

…

"I'm serious, Prussia, I want my hundred Euros."

"You'll get it. I'll borrow it from West and come over tomorrow."


	14. Splish Splash

**Splish Splash.**

By the time they reached Romano's house, their adrenaline had begun to abate. England felt tired, and his nose, arms and chest, where Spain had landed a few punches, were beginning to hurt. He hoped Romano wasn't in too lively of a mood.

The house was beautiful. England had always been a fan of Italian architecture, and this house was no exception. Romano led him silently by the hand through elegant darkened rooms until they reached a great big bathroom. "I – I thought maybe you might want to relax in the bathtub," he stammered, still holding England's hand. "It might help with any pain you still have?"

The blond looked at the surprisingly large, old-fashioned bathtub. "That thing's enormous. Er – will – will you – will you take a bath with me?" He felt a blush rising.

"Sure, I'd…like that a lot." Romano turned to the closet and pulled out a big stack of towels and a bottle of bath gel before beginning to run the water.

The big mirror over the sink showed England just how bad he looked, with dried blood caked down the side of his face. He decided to wash that off before getting in the tub; it would ruin the tub water. Plus it didn't look too attractive. He stripped off his blood-spattered shirt and washed his face in the sink, making sure to get it entirely clean.

By the time he was done and had toweled his face off, Romano was already in the bubble-filled tub with a glass of champagne in his hand. There was another one on a small tubside table waiting for England, and the bottle in a silver ice bucket. Romano smirked at the astonished blond, who now had to wriggle out of his trousers without assistance.

"This is not fair," he laughed, and went out into the bedroom to strip. He came back in blushing; examining the bruises forming on his breastbone rather than meeting Romano's eyes, and then slipped into the tub, facing his friend.

"Have a drink, _mi crociato,_ " the Italian purred, handing him the glass.

England took a little sip, stretching his legs out, enjoying the way bubbles tickled his tongue. "What does that mean? 'My crocus'?"

Romano snorted a little. "My 'crusader.' My brave defender." His gaze softened again, watching England drink. "How does the warm water feel? Are you relaxing?"

"Sort of," admitted England, reaching down to stroke Romano's leg under the water. "I wouldn't have guessed you to be a bubble bath kind of person, though." The bubble bath smelled like peppermint and lavender, very nice, almost medicinal.

"Cheh. It's for when Veneziano comes over," Romano blushed. "I don't use this bathroom much, the tub's too big."

"The tub's just right, git," England said, wriggling his toes on Romano's hipbones.

Romano raised his glass to hide another blush.

After a few minutes of relaxing silence, he refilled their glasses and said, "I've been thinking…we should do something nice for Denmark."

England got a faraway look in his eye. "He likes Prussia, you know."

"What? No way! That bas–" But then Romano thought back to all the anxious little looks he'd seen on Denmark's face when they were with Prussia, or talking about Prussia, all those times Denmark talked about how sexy they all were – and he realized England might be right. He got a big wicked grin on his face. "So what are we going to do about it?"

…

By the time they'd hatched the beginnings of their plan, the champagne was gone, the bath water cooling. "Do you want to get out? Or I can top up with more hot water."

"Let's stay in the tub for a little while," England answered drowsily. "This is really so nice, relaxing in the tub with you. I've never done this sort of thing before."

"Fine." Romano turned on the hot water tap. "But then you should come and sit over here with me instead of so far away."

The blond's eyes lit up and he scrambled, somewhat awkwardly, to sit with his back to Romano. The Italian put his arm around his friend's waist and used his free hand to clasp England's fingers, leaning forward to kiss the messy hair.

The island nation tilted his head back wearily to look at his friend. "You are so – well, I don't even know."

"I know, bastard," Romano murmured, kissing his soapy fingers. "You, too."


	15. He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother

**He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother**

England awoke alone in Romano's massive, ornate Renaissance bed. Eh, silk sheets; he'd never actually slept on them before, and last night they'd both been too tired for him to explore his surroundings. He bent his knees and ran his feet up and down the sheet, and it felt really nice. Where was Romano, though?

Oh, he could hear voices downstairs. Guests? Bollocks, then he couldn't dress in his own clothes. He rummaged around in a dresser until he found a pair of sweatpants and pulled them on, leaving the bloodied shirt on the floor with his leather trousers. After a quick wash-up, he padded downstairs to see what was going on. Something smelled really good. He followed his nose to the kitchen.

"England! Ve~!" Veneziano stood up in delight. "What are you doing here so early? Why aren't you wearing a shirt?" His voice quickly changed to concern. "You're covered in bruises! Are you all right?"

Romano, who was cooking, kept his back to the room, but England could see him blushing as he focused on breakfast. "Er – hello, Veneziano, Germany," the blond said to the third occupant of the room, stalling for time.

"England," Germany said, surprised.

"Ve, Romano, you didn't tell me you had a house guest! Since when are you and England friends?"

"Do I have to tell you everything, idiot? Are you saying I can't have friends without telling you?" Romano slid some ramekins out of the oven and the wonderful scent of herbed cheese soufflé filled the room. "We, ah, were at a bar last night, and it was closer for him to stay here than go back to London, that's all." He shot England a warning look, which was completely unnecessary – never mind that Romano's geography was complete rubbish – and gave him a cup of coffee. "Sorry I don't have any tea yet," he whispered. England just nodded and took the coffee.

"But that's so nice, ve! It's good for you to make new friends, right, Germany?"

"Indeed," Germany said, pulling out a chair for England, who sank into it and put his head in his hands. "I've often thought that your brother has remained too isolated."

"Shut up, potato bastard."

"But, but England, you look terrible. Did you get in a fight? Did you get in a fight with _fratello_?"

"Don't be stupid, Veneziano," Romano barked. "If we'd been in a fight with each other, why would I let him stay here? He got in a fight with Spain…and kicked the crap out of him, too," he continued with pride. He put an individual soufflé in front of each of them and then sat down himself.

"Spain?" Germany asked, confused. "Why were you fighting with Spain?"

"Cheh, he deserved it, the bastard wouldn't leave me – ah – well, he was being a nuisance at the club." He poured himself some coffee.

Finishing his coffee, England finally decided to join the conversation and drew a deep breath. "I was a little distracted last night, and Spain pushed me over the edge. That's all. I got carried away. It won't happen again."

"Damn right it won't," Romano answered, smug, "he won't come near m– you anymore after that, I bet."

Both Germany and Veneziano looked from one to the other, as if they were watching a tennis match.

"This still doesn't explain why you don't have a shirt on," Germany commented.

"Chigi! His shirt is covered in blood! That's all!"

"Blood? Just how bad was this fight, ve?"

"Bad," England admitted. "I hate that wanker." The island nation, head in hands, missed the deep flush and sentimental look that Romano directed at him.

Veneziano shrugged. "Ve, Germany, let's eat! _Fratello_ almost never cooks breakfast. We were really lucky today!"

The four sat to eat. England found himself ravenous, and dug into the heavenly soufflé eagerly. He didn't want to antagonize Romano with too much affection, so he simply smiled at him and kept eating. Veneziano kept up a constant stream of chatter with Germany. Romano wasn't saying much, probably for the same reasons England was keeping quiet.

"So we're going to see Japan today!" Veneziano told them. "It's been such a long time since the three of us went out together; we're leaving early so we have the whole day together."

"That's nice," England offered. "It's nice that you three have stayed friends all this time. I can't stand hanging out with the Allies any more, except America, and only in small doses."

"Hey, that reminds me," Romano blurted out, "did you hear that America was dating Belgium?"

"Where did you hear that?" Germany asked, astonished.

"America himself! When I was –" England and Romano realized at the same time that there was no easy way to explain that one. The blond almost laughed, but he didn't want to make his friend angry, so he covered his mouth with his hand. "Maybe I was mistaken," the brunet then muttered, and then England did laugh. "What the hell are you laughing at, bastard?" England just kept laughing, and Veneziano joined in even though he had no idea what was so funny. "Dammit! Just shut up, both of you!" He threw a napkin at the island nation, who tried to muffle his laughter.

Well, at least it had gotten everyone's mind off America and Belgium. He winked weakly up at Romano, who frowned, blushed, and stomped back to take empty plates into the kitchen.

"Sorry," England offered to his retreating back. "Just a little release of tension, I guess."

"Ve, we need to get going, Germany. Thank you so much for breakfast, _fratello_ ," he said, kissing Romano's cheek. "I'll call you later, okay?"

"Cheh, whatever. Get going, potato bastard, I've got a kitchen to clean up."

"I'll help, git," said England winningly, rising. "I'm really good at cleaning kitchens. Just ask Denmark." Romano wadded up a hand towel and threw it in the sink, snarling.

"Bye England, bye _fratello_!"

"Breakfast was delicious, Romano, thank you," Germany added.

"See you later," England called out as they left the kitchen.

Once they were out of the house, Romano turned to his friend and snapped, "Dammit!"

"What? What'd I do?"

The frown on Romano's face smoothed away. "Ah, nothing, what the hell." He stepped closer to slide a hand over the bruises, placing the other hand in the small of England's back. "Does – does it hurt much?"

"I've had worse. But you owe me, now." He smirked.

Romano stepped closer. "What exactly do you have in mind?"

"What have you got?"

The Italian slid his arms around England's neck, pressing up against him. "I've got a lot, bastard…think you can handle it?"

"Mm…show me..."

They began kissing deeply, in a strong embrace, with the result that neither of them saw Germany walk back into the kitchen to grab his cap. He froze, watching, and then slipped silently out of the room again before they could spot him.

…

"Veneziano! Veneziano!"

"Ve, were they kissing, Germany?"

"How on earth did you know that?"


	16. Hello, Goodbye

**Hello, Goodbye.**

"Right, so we need to do some prep work before we launch our plan," England said later, when he was back at home and on the phone with Romano. "I know where to get all the things _,_ but you'll have to suggest the party to them. Prussia, at least, won't listen to me."

"Argh, what makes you think I can get that oblivious idiot to do anything, bastard?"

"Are you kidding? It's easy. Just pay him a couple compliments about his bloody former military power and he'll be all over you."

"Oh, yeah."

"Well…not _all over you_ , please. That's my job."

Romano snorted. "How long will you need to get all the stuff?"

"At least two weeks, maybe longer, because it's the Christmas season. I'll have to mail-order some of it. I'll let you know when it's all here."

"This is going to be fun. I hope it works."

"Me too," England muttered. "Sometimes I think it's a stupid idea, and sometimes I think it's a great one. But Den at least deserves the chance to try, right? And Prussia doesn't have a clue. I mean, he thought Hungary was a boy even after she started wearing dresses and living with Austria!"

"Well, be fair, he spent a lot of time dealing with Poland, too…" The two of them spent a moment considering Poland's cross-dressing tendencies.

"That part of Europe is really screwed up," England finally admitted. "Well, I have a lot of meetings coming up, so I'll see you next weekend? Maybe you can come up here?"

"Sure, I don't see why not. Just don't plan to cook for me, all right?"

"Oh, sod off," England grumbled.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll see you next Saturday."

…

Some time passed, as it tends to do, and Saturday rolled around. Romano wasn't due to arrive until six, so England spent the day loafing around, pleasurably indulging his tea-drinking, newspaper-reading side, making mental notes about world economics and the current trade issues plaguing the EU while he ate fresh-baked scones. Yum.

About 5:00 the doorbell rang. Ha, Romano was early! England hurried to open the door, a beaming smile on his face, only to find Switzerland fiddling with a pistol. "Er – what?" he said ungraciously, startled.

Switzerland was equally curt. "So, yeah. May I come in? I want to ask a favor."

England considered this in a panic. If Switzerland was still here when Romano arrived, the brunet might turn right around and leave. He was terrified of the gun-crazy nation. Might as well let the git in and get this over with before six o'clock. "Of course." He stepped back to allow Switzerland entrance and led him to the living room. "Would you like some tea? I just made a fresh pot." _Say no, say no, say you don't have time for it…_

"Yes, thank you, with milk, please."

Bollocks.

England poured the tea and brought two mugs and milk on a platter. "How can I help you, Switzerland?" he asked. His thin veneer of 'gentleman' was dangerously close to peeling away to reveal the delinquent beneath, though, because he was getting more and more anxious about Romano. Still, he managed to maintain the semi-formal demeanor that he used with nations he was not close to.

"You may not be aware," Switzerland began, taking his mug and settling back into the seat cushions, "that my sister Liechtenstein is celebrating a birthday next month." He cleared his throat.

"I was not aware. Please, go on." What the bloody hell did this have to do with him?

"I will be frank with you. I give Liechtenstein everything she wants. She is the most pampered nation in Europe…but there is something she wants that she thinks only you can give her. For the last ten years I have dissuaded her from this notion, but it seems she is no longer going to accept no for an answer."

England held back his expression of shock, but – surely Switzerland, violent, trigger-happy, overprotective Switzerland – was not suggesting what England thought he was suggesting? He felt a sinking in his stomach…how could he turn Switzerland down without endangering his life? _Liechtenstein?_ Bollocks, he'd have to say no and then Switzerland would shoot him and then Romano would be sad and that wouldn't be any good and Spain would get Romano back and –

Oblivious to his frenetic thoughts, Switzerland had continued speaking calmly. "Liechtenstein believes in the existence of your, your magical friends, and she wants to meet them."

England almost didn't process this, because he was still riding the panic train about Romano and Liechtenstein. He picked up his tea to cover his confusion. After a moment, his guest's words percolated through to his consciousness. "She – she wants to meet Uni? And Flying Mint Bunny?"

"Ach, I don't know their names," Switzerland said irritably. "If they actually exist – and Liechtenstein believes that they do – I humbly request that she be permitted to meet them, preferably on her birthday. Naturally, appropriate recompense will be made."

As England drew breath to respond, the doorbell rang. Blast, six o'clock, Romano was right on time. "Excuse me a moment, Switzerland; I'll rejoin you momentarily."

His guest nodded and England flew to the door.

"Hi," Romano said softly as he stepped into the hallway.

"Er – no – wait –" England held off his embrace.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Just – blast it, just come in, sit down, and don't say anything and don't be scared _._ "

"Russia?" he whispered.

"Switzerland," England hissed back, and grabbed Romano's sleeve to keep him from fleeing. "Please…we're almost done, just come and sit, try to smile – er, just come and sit and be still; you don't have to say a word, just – please?"

Romano looked off to the side and sighed. "Cheh, if you could take on Spain for me, I can sit around with Switzerland for a few minutes."

England led the way back into the room.

"H-hi, Switzerland," Romano stammered, and sat on a club chair.

"Romano," Switzerland acknowledged.

"Would you like some tea?" England asked Romano, but received a dismissive wave in return. "Very well, then, Switzerland; please continue."

Switzerland fingered the safety catch on the gun at his waist. "I do need assurances that this matter will be kept confidential," he stated.

"There will be no breach of confidentiality, either from myself or Romano," England replied. "If it is possible – and I must strongly stress that the requested parties may not wish to comply – then I am happy to facilitate a mutually-beneficial exchange."

Romano started fiddling with the seams on the arm of his chair, jiggling his foot, tapping his fingers like a hyper child. England frowned at him, but the half-nation wasn't looking; the host returned his focus to Switzerland.

That nation seemed satisfied with England's formal legal-speak. "The date is January 23rd. I trust this will allow you ample time to make preparations?"

"Today is the fifteenth of December; yes, that should suffice. I will contact you approximately a week prior to the scheduled date to confirm or deny the availability of the requested parties. We can discuss remuneration after a successful closure to the matter?"

"Agreed." Switzerland set down his tea mug and extended a hand to England, who shook it. "I am pleased that you have been amenable to this important request. Goodbye, Romano," he added. Romano merely waved at him without speaking.

England escorted Switzerland to the door and locked it behind him, then hurried back to the living room.

"What the hell! Is he gone?"

The blond nodded and collapsed on the sofa. "You couldn't sit still for five minutes? You were as bad as America! Switzerland is a very dangerous git to antagonize!"

"Look, I came here to have fun with you, not get lectured about my behavior in front of a guy I barely know and don't even like _._ Don't lecture me, dammit."

England just crossed his arms and sat in a huff.

Romano continued, "What the hell was all that about, anyway?"

"Confidentiality agreement, remember? Couldn't tell you if I wanted to."

"What? This is me, bastard, remember me? Just because you have to get all uptight about some stupid hit man contract with Switzerland is no reason to take it out on me."

"Hit man contract? What are _you_ talking about?"

"Isn't that what all that fucking legal bullshit talk was all about?" Romano sat next to him and put his feet on the coffee table.

"That's the way I have to talk to Switzerland. It's the only kind of language he respects. Take your feet off the table."

"So what was it all about? Are you saying you can't trust me enough to tell me?" He took his feet off the table.

"You saw the gun! I don't want to court Switzerland's anger – against me or against you. So no, I'm not going to tell you." He unfolded his arms and rested them on the couch, closing his eyes. "I don't want any possible chance of him coming after you."

Romano's gaze softened, though England didn't see. "You are just so damn considerate."

England snorted. "Yeah, that, and you know how long it would take me to find another bloody boyfriend?"

Romano kicked him. "Shut up, bastard."

"Anything you say, git."


	17. Christmas All Over Again

**Christmas All Over Again.**

"You sure you won't change your mind about holding hands in public, git?"

"Cheh, I'm sure, I just can't get comfortable with it, all right?"

"Yes, all right. I just like holding your hand, that's all. Your hands are always so warm."

Romano had been seriously considering grabbing England's hand as they walked through downtown London at night, but couldn't reconcile this with his earlier prohibition. And he did not want to be seen as backing down, even over something so relatively trivial. He sighed and shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets. "Yeah, I know, but still." Plus it was freezing! His hands were better off in his pockets.

As they approached the shops that were open late to make Christmas sales, Romano started thinking about recent Christmases, spent as the third wheel with Veneziano and Germany. He really wanted to spend Christmas with England this year – but a _special_ Christmas, not just hanging out at one of their homes. _Without_ the potato bastard! Half his brain was thinking about this, and the other half was worrying about the weather.

Families and couples poured out of shops, laden with bags; the scent of roast chestnuts from street vendors filled the air. "Want to warm up?" England asked. "We could get some chestnuts, or some coffee?"

"Ah, I'm all right." The truth was that Romano didn't want to take his hands out of his pockets. England (the country, not his friend) was fucking _cold._ He looked at the blond, who was striding along in a medium-weight green coat, seemingly not affected by the cold at all. Dammit, it just wasn't fair.

"Hey, bastard, could we – could we go into the shops?"

"Sure, I don't see why not. Which ones would you like to go to?" They stopped and looked at the signs. "Is there anything special you want to buy?"

He just wanted to get warm, but wasn't about to admit that. "No, nothing special, I just want to look in the shops, see what kind of things you've got, and shit."

England snorted. "Fine. Let's start here." They went into a store selling Christmas ornaments and decorations. He dragged Romano straight to a display in the back of the store.

"What are you looking for?" Romano turned his attention to the display.

"These are the ornaments with this year's date on them. I – I thought maybe we could choose one for each other, you know, to, er, to show our first Christmas together?" England tilted his head and gave him his best sweet and appealing glance.

"Dammit, you're just too fucking adorable," Romano muttered. "Sure, let's pick out matching ornaments." He started looking through the available ornaments. After about two minutes he noticed his friend hadn't moved. "Hey, idiot, what's the matter?"

"Shh – I'm having a brilliant idea…yes…this is the best idea I've ever had. Ever. Romano, your boyfriend is positively _brilliant_!"

"Chigi! Stop all that 'boyfriend' shit!" he hissed. "What are you talking about?"

"I know what remuneration I'm going to get from Switzerland, yes indeed!" He grabbed Romano's hands and spun around the tiny shop, laughing and happy. People in the store made way for them, smiling, and after a few twirls, during which Romano's face got redder and angrier, England finally stopped and let go. " _We_ are going to _Switzerland_ for Christmas! And maybe New Year's, too."

"Huh?"

"Oh! Don't you – er – want to spend Christmas with me?" England looked a little scared all of a sudden.

Hadn't he considered Romano might already have something to do? It was kind of late in the season already. "Maybe I have plans!"

Whoa. Romano had never seen anyone's face fall so far, so fast.

"But I – er – " England bit his lip and looked down at the floor. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking." He turned away.

"Dammit, bastard, stop, I'm sorry too; I was just trying to make a point. I reacted badly. Come on, don't look like that. I – uh – I don't actually have plans." Romano's voice dropped. "I was actually trying to work up my nerve to ask you if you wanted to spend Christmas with me," he confessed.

"Let's go outside," England said abruptly. Romano followed, really confused now. When they reached the street, England grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him around a corner into a deserted alley.

Romano was baffled and a little bit worried, until he felt England's cool hands on his cheeks and a kiss pressed to his mouth. He was going to protest, but he could see that nobody was watching. And he kind of owed it to England after that stupid outburst. So they stood in the alley and kissed each other.

"What the fuck is going on, please?" he asked calmly, when England had finally drawn back.

"You're not mad?" the island nation asked.

"Yeah, bastard, I'm so fucking mad at you that I've been making out with you in a dark alley for the last ten minutes!" he laughed. He was relieved to see England smiling too. "Come on; let's go back out in the light." He grabbed his friend's wrist and tugged him back to the high street.

They stood near a street lamp, where he let go. "Now, can we please rewind to this brilliant idea about Switzerland and go from there?"

"Right." Deep breath. "You heard that Switzerland wants a favor from me, and he's going to pay me for it if I can get it done?" Romano nodded. "Well, I – I admit I assumed you and I would be spending Christmas together" – he looked up and Romano smiled at him, blushing – "but I couldn't think of what kind of special thing, or special place, we should go to, or do. Right?"

"I'm with you so far."

"So I was thinking of an island, or something, but to me, Christmas means snow. And I suddenly thought that if Switzerland's going to pay me for the favor, maybe I can get it in advance – if I can confirm the favor – and we could ask him for a few weeks at one of his fancy chalets! Wouldn't it be great to spend Christmas in the Alps?"

Well, his excitement _was_ kind of infectious. Romano actually chuckled. "Sounding good, if you can get him to agree. Hmm…snowed into a luxury chalet with you?" His friend blushed. "So what do you have to do for him? And, and, it's getting mighty close to Christmas already. Can you get him what he wants?"

"I'd better set things in motion tomorrow. But listen, I didn't even get to the best part yet." He grinned archly. "Denmark and Prussia can come with us!"

"All right, you have completely lost me there. Why the hell would I want to spend Christmas with those bastards?"

"Aren't they your friends, wanker? Just listen. First: neither of them ever has anything to do on Christmas, either. So we'd be doing them a favor."

"Maybe."

"Second, a luxury chalet is just the place to get them together! Isn't it? That's such a damn brilliant idea, I don't know how my brains stay so cool." England huffed on his fingernails, buffing them on his coat, and Romano laughed. "Our plan will still work, if we do it there, just as well as if we do it here."

"Okay, well, _maybe._ "

"Third of all, once we get them together, we can leave them alone to get on with things, and we can go do whatever we want."

Now that had appeal.

"So, what do you think? We'll just move the party plans to Switzerland over Christmas, and keep all the other plans as is."

Romano thought about this. "Assuming you can give Switzerland what he wants. It's not illegal, is it?"

"No, not at all. In fact, maybe when we get back to my place I can find out whether it can be done, and then just email him with the idea." He tapped his finger against his chin, thinking. "Yes, his email's in my computer somewhere. At least then we'd know whether it would work out or not."

"Yeah, but if it doesn't, it's probably too late to get a reservation anywhere. It's already the fifteenth."

"Well, in that case, we could skip the Denmark and Prussia part, and just find a place for you and me." England nudged him with his elbow.

"True. Right, so, do we go back to your place now, or do you want to keep shopping?"

"You're my guest, Romano, you decide."

"Cheh. Let's go back to your place. I want to find out if this crazy plan will actually work."

And as they walked down the street, Romano slid his hand into that of his boyfriend, blushing all the way home.


	18. Can I Steal a Little Love?

**Can I Steal a Little Love?**

Romano woke in the night feeling as if someone was watching him, but England lay facing the other way, curled up under the covers. He strained his ears for sounds of an intruder – damn America and his lock picks – but heard nothing at all. Ah, perhaps it was just a dream.

…

After they breakfasted, lounging around in their underwear, England wrote an email to Switzerland asking about the possibility of a vacation home for Christmas. "I _really_ hope he has one we can use," he sighed.

"Yeah, but you still need to fulfill your end of the contract, right, bastard? I mean, what if Swissy says yes, but you can't deliver?" Romano made himself another cup of espresso. He was very touched that England had bought an espresso machine just for his rare visits. Taking the cup, he dropped a kiss on the top of the messy blond hair and went back to the kitchen table.

"Bloody hell, I don't know. I think I can do it, but I'm not going to set it in motion until I hear back from him. There are quite a few other – er – people involved."

Romano was burning with curiosity, but held his tongue. He'd tried to needle England about this yesterday, but the island nation had stood firm and refused to divulge anything. "Hey, last night I had a really strange feeling. I woke up certain that someone was watching me."

"Probably me. I look at you every time I wake up. I can't believe how lucky I am."

Romano blushed and drank some espresso. "Argh, bastard, you… _argh._ But no, you were facing the other way. I listened in case it was America breaking in again, but didn't hear anything, so I finally just went back to sleep."

"Well, as long as you slept all right. There's no sign of a break-in, is there?" England looked around but didn't see anything out of place. "At any rate, America won't be able to break in any more, unless he climbs up to the second floor. I had bars put over all the ground-floor and first-floor windows. Didn't you notice?"

"Has he tried to break in? Uh, have you even talked to him lately?" Romano was more than just curious; he wondered just what kind of relationship the former colony had with England these days. Of course there were always rumors, but he got the impression that England could barely tolerate America's presence anymore.

"Yes, he called a few weeks ago, something about another film festival, but I was busy, so we didn't talk much."

"Does, uh, does he know about us yet?"

"Probably. I mean, Prussia's probably babbled it all over, and if he hasn't, Francy-pants probably told him."

"But you didn't tell him?"

"No. Why should I? It's none of his business."

Romano considered this. Technically true, but he couldn't help feeling that there would be a fairly serious scene when America found out they were actually dating _._

 _Ping!_ England's email alert sounded. "Switzerland already? Yes." He opened the file. "Hmm, all right…yes, so…hmm."

"Well, what _?"_ Romano asked. "Does he agree?" Having had a whole evening and night to come to grips with this idea, he was now really looking forward to the whole Swiss Christmas plan, and held his breath while he waited for England's response.

"Yes. He has a place…damn, it sleeps twenty, but nobody's using it. It's in Interlaken. There's a hot tub, steam room, saunas" – both of them started blushing – "indoor pool, billiards table, game room, and it's right at the bottom of a private ski slope and across from a lake. Wow." He turned to Romano. "Er – do you ski? I don't do it much anymore, but I bet Prussia and Denmark both do."

"Cheh. Let them ski. We can check out the hot tub." Romano walked over and put his arms around England, stroking his pale naked chest with the palms of his hands. "What kind of beds," he asked seductively.

"I – I don't see anything here – ah, bloody hell, Romano, how the hell can I read emails when you're touching me like this?" England tipped his head back and they shared a kiss. He grinned and spun in his chair to face Romano, who surprised both of them by straddling England and sitting on his lap.

"Forget the fucking emails."

…

"I've never made love on the kitchen floor before."

"I wouldn't want to do it very often. I'm cold." England blushed.

"Come over here and let me warm you up again, bastard."

…

Later, after they were cleaned and dressed, Romano felt the sensation of being watched again…but there was no one in the room other than England, who was making notes about the Swiss party.

"Hey, bastard."

"Yes, wanker?" England snorted.

"Is your house haunted?"

"Not that I ever noticed. Why?"

"I've got that damn feeling of being watched again. It's creepy."

England turned from the table. "Are you just noticing this now? I mean, did you ever feel this way when you were here before? That day America broke in? I guess that's the only time you were here before."

"I – I'm not sure," Romano admitted after a bit of thought.

"Well, I don't know of any haunting in this area. Let me know if you feel it again, all right?"

"Sure. Well, I've got to get home, anyway. Keep me posted on the Swissy thing."

England shook his head sadly. "Please don't call him Swissy. I know you're going to forget and call him that to his face, and then…"

"Uh."

"Anyway, I'll let you know what's going on. Why don't you call Prussia and Denmark and let them know about it?"

"Why me? They're your friends too."

"Ah, yeah, but you gits are the bloody Squabble Boys, or whatever?" England started laughing.

" _Skirmish Brothers,_ you idiot."

"Yeah, that. Anyway, call them up. Even if I can't manage to arrange the – thing – for Switzerland,we can probably just pay him rent for use of the place. So I'd say it's a go."

"Won't that be expensive?"

"Won't it be worth it?"

"Ah, bastard, you – "

England pulled him into a sweet goodbye kiss.

…

 _You can probably guess who's watching Romano._


	19. Magic

**Magic.**

"I hope you'll consider doing this. Apparently she has wanted to meet you for a very long time."

Flying Mint Bunny cuddled up on England's shoulder. Uni rested on the rug in front of the fireplace, watching with interest. "It would be nice to meet someone new," the unicorn offered. "She sounds like a nice girl."

"So you – you'll do it?"

His ear tickled as Flying Mint Bunny nibbled it. "Of course we will. This is our Christmas present to you. We want you to have a nice time in Interlaken with your new friend."

England blushed. "You – you know about Romano?"

"We watch over you. We have to make sure he is treating you right."

"You – you watch us?" Bloody hell, his face was so hot you could fry an egg on it.

Flying Mint Bunny coughed delicately. "Not all the time. Usually when you're out in public."

"Ah – but you've been in the house, too, haven't you? That's why Romano said he felt like he was being watched!"

"Yes. We were really surprised to see that he could sense our presence."

"Has – has anyone else ever sensed you?"

"Russia, sometimes, but you know he's very sensitive to the occult. And it's a long time since you spent any time with him, anyway."

"Don't remind me…So you will go to Liechtenstein's birthday party? All of you? Tink and everyone too?"

They both nodded. "Will you be there?" Uni asked.

"Er, I don't know. Switzerland didn't say anything about that, but I can tell he's disturbed by the idea. He will probably want me to come as a buffer, a distraction, so that Liechtenstein won't feel embarrassed if it turns out you really don't exist. I mean – you know what I mean."

"Yay!" Flying Mint Bunny chortled, leaping into the air to swoop around the room. "A party, a party!"

England ignored this and put his head in his hands. They watch him and Romano? Bollocks.


	20. Baby, It's Cold Outside

**Baby, It's Cold Outside.**

England heaved a massive sigh of relief as the cab drove up to the chalet. All of his plans had worked out perfectly. If that wasn't proof that magic existed, what was?

One: Switzerland had in fact invited both him and Romano over for Liechtenstein's birthday. Since his magical friends had agreed to meet Liechtenstein, but probably wouldn't manifest themselves to other, unknown party guests, Switzerland had decided not to throw a big party, but simply have a low-key day, maybe with a small cake, so that the four nations could enjoy the visit without distractions. So that was sorted. Ah, he still needed to brief Romano on this, though. Well, time enough for that later.

Two: Denmark and Prussia had both agreed to go to Interlaken – even though they both knew that Romano and England would be the only other people there. They'd both professed to be looking forward to it.

Three: Romano had weaseled out of a Veneziano/Germany Christmas, with apparently only a brief panic attack when he'd realized his brother might want to go with them and drag the potato bastard along, too. Luckily Germany had had ideas of his own, and had kept Veneziano too occupied to follow that train of thought to its conclusion.

And four (probably the most important of the four): Flying Mint Bunny and the others had reluctantly agreed not to follow England to the mainland during the vacation.

All four of the friends were due to converge at the chalet today. It was beautiful here, England thought, looking out at the scenery; maybe they should make an annual thing of this?

When the cab pulled up, Prussia ran out onto a balcony on the upper level. "Hey, man! Thank you so much!" England laughed and waved as he pulled his luggage out. He had a suitcase full of clothes and several bags of presents (including the things for the Plan).

"Come help me with this!" he called up.

Prussia ran out into the snow. "This was a brilliant idea, _brilliant,_ you are a genius," he said, picking up the suitcase. "Thank you so much. We really need to thank Swissy for this, too."

England snorted. Was he the only one who called Switzerland by his full name anymore? " _Swissy_ has been compensated." He lugged the bags in through the front door. "Denmark here yet? Romano?"

"No, not yet. Hey, wait until you see this place. There's a minibar next to the hot tub."

"Sweet. What else? I know there's a pool, but…"

"A pool? Seriously? How did I miss that?" Prussia dumped England's suitcase in the hallway and ran off to look for it. England sighed and started carrying the luggage upstairs himself.

…

He found a nice unoccupied room with a view of the lake on the front side of the chalet; the ski slope was behind the home. This room had a king-sized bed, a fireplace, even a private sauna right inside the room _._

Something he hadn't considered: this chalet had eight individual bedrooms. Would Romano be comfortable sharing with him, knowing Denmark and Prussia were around? Maybe Romano would prefer his own room. Well, they could deal with that when he got here. England wandered around, looking at the rich interior appointments, and then flopped on the bed. Nice big comfortable bed, too.

"Hey, hey, hey," he heard Prussia call. "I found the pool! It's in the basement! Where are you?" He burst into the room. "Did you hear? The pool's in the basement; no wonder I couldn't find it. It's not too big, but it's nice. Bigger than the hot tub, anyway." He waggled his eyebrows.

"In the basement? Isn't it really dark?"

"Well, there's interior lighting. But there's also a gigantic fireplace next to the pool! How cool is that? Damn. I want to move in here. Get out of West's stupid basement."

"Trade one bloody basement for another, you mean?"

"Yeah, but, man. Come and look at it." Prussia pulled England off the bed and dragged him all the way downstairs.

…

Romano still hadn't arrived. England was getting a bit worried, so he bundled up and sat on the front porch to wait. Prussia and Denmark had gone to play in the pool. A huge roaring fire had been lit in the poolside fireplace. It looked really fun and inviting, but the island nation was rather worried about his friend.

A cab came trundling up the driveway slowly. He stood up, hopeful; when Romano popped out of the back seat, England stepped happily down to greet him, but Romano just gave him a look and gestured towards the suitcases. "Help me with this, bastard," he snarled.

When they got inside, they could hear the loud shrieks of the two other nations echoing from the basement. "What the hell?"

"Ah, they're just playing in the pool. So – did you have bad travel, or something?"

"Chigi! Just forget it and help me get this stuff upstairs." They continued hauling the luggage up the stairs until they reached the door of England's chosen room.

"Er, about that. Do you, er, will you share a room with me? It's quite spacious, and it's not near the rooms that Prussia and Denmark chose." He gestured towards his bedroom, but was too nervous to look at Romano.

"Uh."

"It's fine if you want a separate room. This one across the hall is nice. But mine has a fireplace, and a sauna, and a view of the lake, and a balcony…it's really, er, romantic…the other one only has a view of the ski slope and a much smaller fireplace. No sauna or balcony." He blushed and held his breath.

"Sure, I'll share with you, bastard." Romano blushed too. "Just because you have a sauna."

"Of course," England agreed sarcastically. " _Just_ because I have a sauna."

Romano gave him that pissed-off look again, but then smiled weakly. "Ah, dammit, not _just_ for that." He swept him into a hug. "Sorry. It really was a crazy trip, and I kept wondering if it was such a good idea."

"You don't want to be with me for Christmas? That hurts." England picked up the suitcases and moved them into his bedroom before his friend could change his mind.

"Dammit, that's not what I meant, and you know it. It's those two that I'm worried about." Romano looked around the room, whistling. "Whoa. Swissy sure does all right for himself! Son of a bitch, this is a nice room." He wandered all around much as England had done, while the island nation put the suitcases on the bed to be unpacked. "Uh – did you bring the _party stuff_? To get them together?"

"Yes, I brought the _stuff,_ and I also found out –" Ah. Now was probably not the best time to tell Romano that his magical friends had been spying on them. He cleared his throat.

"You found out what?"

"Nothing. Do you want to go down to the pool?"

"Sure. Let me dig out my trunks."

…

"Hey, Romano!" Denmark called from the pool. "Nice to finally see you!"

England laughed and jumped right in. Romano entered the pool a little more sedately.

Soon all four of them were splashing around, relaxing, enjoying the start of their vacation. "Did I tell you you're a genius?" Prussia said, floating on his back.

England splashed him. "Yes, but what the hell, tell me again."

" _You're a fucking genius, Iggy!_ " It echoed throughout the whole room.

"Didn't you say there was a minibar down here, git?"

"Ha, no, the minibar is next to the awesome hot tub. Upstairs on the deck."

"Yeah, but," Denmark pointed out, "there's a steam room down here."

"A steam room! Come on, let's go see," Prussia said, trying to drag Romano out of the pool.

"Chigi! Let go, albino potato."

"What? It's just a steam room. _Oh_. Yeah, well, okay, maybe you and Iggy should check it out later, kesesese!"

"Shut up, bastard!" Romano splashed Prussia in the face.

…

Later, the four of them sat down to a delicious meal cooked by Switzerland's on-call chef, who lived in a small house down the street. He'd been placed at their service for the duration of the trip, but would not be staying at the chalet, just coming over to cook each requested meal and then departing.

"Fabulous," Denmark said, pushing his plate away. "I'm going to get fat."

Prussia burped discreetly. "Not if we ski every day."

"Cheh, I'm not skiing. I'm Italian. We don't ski."

"You should try it! You might like it."

"My idea of a good time at a ski chalet is relaxing in the hot tub." Dammit, Romano could feel the blush and he could see England looking a little discomfited too.

"Well, you and Iggy can hang out in the hot tub while Den and I are skiing, right?" Prussia said this in a totally normal conversational voice. Romano couldn't believe it – and then he was proven right when the idiot burst out with another "Kesesese!"

"Just because you can't get a date," he started.

Prussia colored violently. "Shut up!" He threw a piece of spaetzle at Romano.

"No, not a food fight, please!" England screeched. "Swissy will shoot us!"

Whoa. That was like a bucket of cold water to the brain. Everybody calmed down really quickly.

"Fine. Look, is there any shopping that needs to be done?" England went on. Denmark and Romano shared a complicit look. "What? What are you gits cooking up?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," Denmark dismissed it with a wave of the hand. "I have all the Christmas shopping done and all the presents wrapped."

"Shit!" Prussia yelled. "We need a Christmas tree!"

"Isn't there one already up? Switzerland had everything prepared, so I assumed there would be a tree."

"Cheh, he dropped the ball on that one. I didn't see a tree anywhere."

Denmark thought about this, too. "Well, then, first thing tomorrow morning we should go get a tree."

"But we don't have any decorations."

"I'm not sitting around and doing artsy-craftsy tree-decorating shit, bastards."

"Nobody's asking you to. Shut up a minute." Denmark poked Romano's arm and then put his chin in his hand, thinking. "Right, well, we could put up a tree with no decorations, couldn't we? I mean, trees are nice _au naturel_."

"Kesesese! I'm pretty nice _au naturel,_ too, Den."

England and Romano froze and looked at each other in amazement, but didn't say a word. Unfortunately Denmark didn't respond to this either. Prussia pouted.

"Yeah," Denmark finally said, coming out of his reverie. "We just need a tree and a tree stand. It will look nice with the presents under it; that ought to be enough decoration."

"Where're we going to put it?"

"Let's go look around."

After some searching, the four of them decided to erect the tree in the huge two-story great hall. There was plenty of room for a tree, and all the presents they could imagine heaping under it.

"Now we just need to figure out where to get a tree."

"Ah, we can ask the cook when he comes to make breakfast."

…

"Hey, I'm really tired; it was a long drive here. I'm, I'm going up to bed," Romano stammered.

Denmark discreetly looked away, but of course Prussia couldn't let this pass without comment. "Aren't you going with him, Iggy?"

"I think I will. At least I can get away from you, wanker," he snapped.

Denmark laughed. Romano and England headed up the stairs, not looking at each other.

…

"D'you want to check out the sauna, bastard?"

England smiled lazily.

After they'd settled in on the wooden bench, he mused, "I wonder why Prussia didn't want this bedroom? It's definitely the nicest one in the place, and he got here first. In fact, this is probably Switzerland's bedroom when he stays here."

Each of them spiraled away in his own thoughts, until Romano smacked himself in the forehead.

"What? Did you burn yourself?"

"No, dammit…I was just thinking about Switzerland and Austria."

"What about them? Why did you – oh. _Oh_. Er, no, there's no way. Not them. Not in a _sauna._ "

"But could you really – relax – in here, now that this has occurred to us?"

England considered. "Maybe not. Let's just enjoy the sauna and then go to bed."

Romano kissed him. "That's fine with me." They kissed some more, enjoying the sauna's dry heat.

"Screw it," England finally said, "I don't care if they _did_ have sex in here." He grabbed Romano and pushed him down onto the sauna bench.

"That's exactly what I was thinking."

…


	21. The One Thing

**The One Thing.**

"We have things to do, bastards, so we'll see you in the morning, all right?" England and Romano needed to wrap up all the stuff and put it in strategic locations around the chalet for Prussia and Denmark to discover on Christmas morning. They'd been meaning to at least wrap the things before Christmas Eve, but kept getting distracted.

Prussia waggled his eyebrows. "Things to do, huh? Well, we all know what kind of awesome _things_ you two –"

"Shut up," Denmark interrupted, throwing a pillow at him. "Just let them go." Romano ran off immediately.

Prussia looked mildly hurt, but shrugged. "Whatever. See you on Christmas morning, then, Iggy?"

"Yes. Merry Christmas, wankers." England departed with a wave from Denmark.

Romano already stood inside the room by the time England caught up to him. "Den must be nuts. That git drives me up the wall sometimes."

"Cheh, well, at least nobody's trying to fix one of us up with him." They grinned together a little at that idea. "Where is the _stuff_?"

"In the closet. I'll get it. I put scissors, wrapping paper and tape on the desk by the window. Will you bring it over?"

"We should light a fire, too."

"If you get a fire started, I'll get going on the wrapping."

"Sure." Romano moved to the fireplace.

Eventually there were three shopping bags of things on the floor in front of the fire, and England (messily) and Romano (competently) wrapped each one, turning them over and discussing them, and whether the two oblivious idiots would understand the message behind all the gifts. "I really hope this works. If that blockheaded albino potato still doesn't get it, then I have no idea what else we can do."

"Sit on him and give him a lecture?" England didn't relish that idea.

"Ah, no, unfortunately, Denmark's the only one who can sit on Prussia."

The blond gave his friend a funny look. "Who made up a stupid rule like that? On the other hand, if it was Prussia's idea, then maybe our work is halfway done."

"No, no," Romano snorted, "it's just because I can't manage to pin him down. He's too strong for me."

"He pins you down?"

"Well, once. He and Den wanted to see what kind of underwear I was wearing."

" _What?_ "

"Never mind, it was stupid. Just horsing around last summer."

"Did they get to see?"

"Nope."

"Well, you must have been strong enough to fight them off, then, so I don't see what the problem is."

"I, uh…I just told them I wasn't wearing any."

England dropped the present he was wrapping. "Bloody hell, Romano, you _are_ a demon. Are – are you wearing any now?"

"Of course I am, bastard."

"Blast."

"Don't get sidetracked. We've put this off long enough; we need to get it done tonight."

…

The things were all wrapped and packed back into the shopping bags. "We probably shouldn't go put these out until after midnight."

England snorted. "Git. You think they're going to stay up and wait for Santa?"

"Shut up." Romano hit him with the roll of wrapping paper. "We have to go all over the house, so I don't want to risk waking them up, or running into them if they're still in the pool or whatever."

"But that means we have two more hours to wait with nothing to do."

"When did that ever stop us, idiot? Want to use the sauna for a while?"

"No. I still have splinters in my knees from last time."

Romano turned bright red. " _Chigi!_ I meant just to _use_ the sauna. The way a sauna's supposed to be used."

"Oh. Well, no, then." England lay back on the rug in front of the fire.

"What do you mean?"

"I thought you wanted to fool around. I'm not in the mood for the sauna, though. It's already pretty warm in here."

"We – we could fool around if you want, bastard," Romano offered shyly.

England grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him closer. "You know, I think what I like best about you is your smooth talking."

"Shut up!" Romano rolled on top of him. "Just – shut up, all right?" He kissed England on that same infuriating pulse point that always drove him nuts, right under his ear, kissed and licked it until he felt England moan and shift beneath him.

"I – I take it back," England choked out, as he felt Romano's hands caress his shoulders, Romano's mouth on his earlobe.

"Take what back?"

"I like this better," the island nation moaned, pushing his hands through the dark hair.

…

"Oh, hell. It's two in the morning! Wake up, git!"

"Dammit, I knew this was gonna happen."


	22. The Man with the Bag

**The Man with the Bag.**

"Shh," Romano cautioned, tiptoeing down the steps.

"Don't shush me, git. I'm being perfectly quiet." As they approached the last step, they could see a faint light coming from the great hall. Firelight? They looked at each other in concern. It was nearly three in the morning! Why would Prussia and Denmark still be awake? Unless they really were waiting for Santa. England snorted.

"I said 'shh'!" Romano had one bag and England two, and they had decided to start with the gifts for under the tree. They crept into the big room – which was indeed still lit by firelight – and they almost dropped the bags: their friends were sitting on the rug in front of the bright fire, intimately cuddled together, sharing soft kisses.

"What the fuck!" Romano yelled, and did drop his bag. Denmark jumped guiltily, but Prussia just leaned back and grinned at them. At least they were still fully-dressed.

"Kesesese! Hey, guys. Merry Christmas."

England just stood stunned, mouth open, not moving.

Prussia, apparently, was the only one who could speak. "What? What's wrong? Hey, Den, come back, I'm getting cold again." Denmark didn't look at Romano or England, but settled down a few inches further away from Prussia than he'd initially been.

The island nation finally got his wits together. "Right, right, what the hell? What are you wankers doing?"

"What does it look like? Kesesese! The awesome me is dating the even-more-awesome Denmark. Got a problem with that?"

"Er – since when?"

"I don't know, Den, what, about six months?"

"Six fucking months?" A scowling Romano kicked the bag of presents out of the way. "Why the hell have you been keeping it a secret, you bastards? You couldn't even tell _me_?"

Denmark finally looked up and must have found Romano's expression really funny, because he started laughing like crazy.

"What, what, what?" the brunet demanded. "Come on, tell me!"

Prussia unwrapped a candy from the bowl next to him and ate it nonchalantly. "Might as well tell them, Den; I can tell the dangerous fucking bastard isn't going to give up so easily."

"But – all this stuff!" England wailed, flinging the bags to the side and coming over to the fire. "You complete _gits_." Romano followed, and they sat on the rug next to the others. The island nation put his head in his hands.

There were a few moments of silence, during which everyone could almost hear the head of steam Romano was building up. Just before he exploded, England leaned over and hugged him, which defused his anger at Prussia and Denmark, but – "Chigi! Not in front of everybody!"

Denmark laughed. "Oh, come on, why not? It's not like we don't know you're together."

"It's not like we don't know you _like it~,"_ Prussia sang out.

"It's not like they weren't just doing the same damn thing, wanker."

"Fine." Romano leaned over and gave England a cursory peck on the lips.

"Whoo, Romano, that's so sexy," Prussia cackled. "No wonder you have such a reputation."

"I'm going to kill you someday, albino potato."

"All right, look, you fighting, fucking bastards," Denmark laughed. "Let's all just shut up and calm down. If you want me to talk about it, I will, but you two have to shut up."

"Romano will shut up," England said.

"What? Why?"

"Because I want to hear what Denmark is going to say! And if you don't shut up, I'll just cover your mouth so you can't talk. Now shush."

"Yeah, all right, as long as Prussia shuts up too."

"Hey, it's no sweat for the awesome me to shut up."

"Shut up!"

They finally shut up. Denmark calmly explained. The island nation was rather surprised that Denmark would have willingly started dating the albino, but it sounded like they were pretty sincere about it. Romano and England simply stared in disbelief, cuddled together and listening. At the end of the tale: "I can not fucking believe this. Bastards."

"Anyway, we were having so much fun together that we felt guilty about poor Romano being alone, so I decided to set you up together with those kissing lessons."

"Yeah, uh, thanks…They were great." Romano blushed.

Prussia's eyes widened. "Is that what they were doing? Damn. You should have said, Den!"

England got a reminiscing look on his face, but then came back to the moment. "You are such a bloody wanker, Denmark." He nudged him with his foot.

"Why? Aren't you two having fun together?"

"That is not the point! Romano and I have been spending all our free time trying to figure out a way to do you a good turn in repayment, and it turns out that our goal of hooking up you and Prussia is no goal at all! We've wasted so much bloody time and money on this project!"

Denmark just laughed, but Prussia said, "You were going to hook us up as repayment? That's so damn sweet, Iggy."

"And you!" Romano yelled at him. "You're always going on about my underwear! Why the hell would you do that if you were dating someone else?" All three of his friends broke into laughter at that. Romano looked at England in irritation and then suddenly leaned over and kissed him.

The green eyes sparkled in amazement. "Wh–what was that for?"

"Dammit, do I need a reason?"

"So," Denmark then asked, "what's in the bags? Christmas presents?"

"Yes." England pushed a hand through his hair. "We got some things to get you that would help you realize your attraction to each other, things to share, and then some things you could have fun with on dates. And that's what's in the bags."

"Cool! Can we still have it?"

"Greedy albino bastard. No."

England poked his boyfriend. "Why not? What else are we going to do with them? There are some bloody good items in those bags, and I'd hate to see them go to waste. Just give them the bags."

"Awesome! Early Christmas presents! Woohoo!" Prussia leaped up and began dancing around the room.

"We get to open them now, right?" Denmark asked.

"Of course! It's past midnight, so it's officially Christmas, gits."

"Turn the lights on, Romano; I want to see better." Denmark threw a few more logs on the fire.

Romano turned on the lights while England fetched the bags of presents. There were twelve total items, some funny, some sweet, some utilitarian, and some downright smutty. "These _are_ awesome. Thanks, guys."

"Merry Christmas, bastards."

"And Denmark?" England gave their friend a sweet, soft gaze. "Thank you very much." He took Romano's hand and kissed it.

"Dammit! But…yeah…thanks, Den."

…

At about five in the morning England and Romano made their sleepy way back to the big bedroom. "What an exhausting night," the island nation said, falling onto the bed.

"Yeah, but you know what?" Romano asked, climbing onto the bed next to him, wrapping his arms around his tired friend. "This was the best Christmas ever."

England smiled sleepily. "And it's not even really Christmas yet," he yawned. "Wait till you see what I got you."

"I've got you, bastard, I don't need anything else."

…


	23. Crazy on You

**Crazy on You.**

Prussia started banging on the bedroom door, yelling, "Come on, you two! The sun is shining – it's _Christmas~!_ Santa came last night, and there are _presents_ … _and_ it's ten o'clock in the morning! Nobody should have to wait until ten o'clock to open presents. Come on, get up."

England slipped out of bed and padded to the door. "Shut it. We were up 'til five, remember? Just control yourself."

The albino gave him a rare sweet smile. "Ah, come on, Iggy, don'tcha wanna see what Santa brought for you? It's awesome."

"How do you know? Anyway, it's not like there really is a Santa, you know."

"Kesesese! That's all _you_ know! Come on, get up, come downstairs, come see what Santa Swissy did for us!"

"All right. Give us a little time, please."

"Sure. Merry Christmas, Romano!" he called out, running back down the stairs.

Romano lay on the bed and groaned, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Noisy bastard."

"Well, we're awake now, might as well get up." England rooted through the wardrobe for something to wear. Romano just grunted. "You know he'll just come back and start yelling again if we don't come down."

Ten minutes later, dressed and clean, Romano started to leave the room, but his friend grabbed him by the arm. "Wait."

"What?"

"I – er. Your present. I didn't put it under the tree. It, er, well, I'd rather have you unwrap it up here."

"Why? What the hell is it?"

"Well, I'm not going to tell you; you have to open it!"

"If that's what you prefer, then, fine. Where is it?"

England bent and removed a large, flat wooden box with clasps from under the bed. "I didn't want to waste paper, so I didn't wrap the box." He placed it reverently on the bed and stood back.

Romano gave him a curious look, but sat on the bed to open it. He slowly opened the side catches and lifted off the lid to reveal something wrapped in thick white paper. Looking at England instead of the gift, he slowly peeled back the loosely-folded paper. The blond stood nervously staring into the box. "What's the matter, bastard?"

"Just – just look at it, please." His voice was hoarse. Romano started to get worried. What the hell could this thing be? He pushed the paper fully aside and looked into the box.

For a few moments there was no sound but Romano's ragged breathing as he fought to hold back the tears. "You – how did you," he swallowed and swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, "England, how?"

"You – you like it?" England's voice was filled with relief.

"'La Magdalena'…that bastard Spain has had this painting for two hundred years…I've tried to get it back, but he never would, no matter how much I offered." Romano was crying openly now. "How did you get it back from him? _How_?" He couldn't look away from the box. "It's so beautiful."

England handed him a handkerchief. "Don't – don't cry on the painting, Romano. I – I'm pretty good at negotiating, you know." He placed a supportive hand on the back of his friend's neck. "I made him an offer he couldn't refuse."

This drew Romano's attention away from the painting, although he was still crying softly. "What – what the hell did you do?" He raised the handkerchief to his eyes again.

"Never you mind. Merry Christmas."

Romano snorted through his tears. "Come here." England stepped closer and the half-nation held him tightly around the waist. The blond stroked his hair while he fought to get his emotions under control. "You, you're unbelievable, you know that?"

"So are you, _mio demone_." This just made Romano cry harder, and he pressed his face into England's stomach, soaking his sweater with tears.

After a few more quiet moments like this, he let go, looking back at the beautiful 16th-century painting. "Uh…thank you for giving it to me up here." He hugged England briefly again, sniffling. "I wouldn't want to be crying like this in front of those bastards. They wouldn't understand. Let me wash off my face, all right?"

"Of course. I'll repack the painting and put it back under the bed."

Romano went into the bathroom and washed his face with cool water, trying to get rid of the evidence of his crying. Dammit, England was a fucking sentimental bastard. He smiled softly, drying his face, and came back out into the bedroom. "Listen."

"I'm listening."

"I – I'm still feeling kind of, of, fragile at the moment…and, and I know that when I feel this way, the least little thing can make me, uh, start crying again…so, will you just act normal down there? No boyfriend stuff?"

England looked crestfallen. "You mean not even any Christmas hugs? No cuddling together? Well, if it makes you happy, I can do that."

Romano squeezed his hand. "Thanks. I'll make it up to you." They walked downstairs together.

"Jeez, took you two long enough," Prussia waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Dammit, don't you _ever_ shut up?"

"Hey, guys." Denmark came into the great hall carrying a plate heaped with food.

"Where'd you get all that?" England's jaw dropped.

"Oh, man, you guys gotta come see this. Come on." Prussia led the way into the dining room – where an enormous buffet breakfast had been set out, with everything from scones to ham, and omelets, and cake.

"What the hell? Switzerland's chef came over to do all this?"

Denmark laughed. "Nope. Some caterers came over about seven o'clock and set it all up. The hot stuff they put in the kitchen and told me and Prussia how to fix it up when we were ready."

Romano went straight to the coffeepot. "This is unbelievable." He took a sip of coffee and then started loading a plate with food. "Dammit, I'm starving. This is great."

"England, I have to ask you something. It's been bugging me all week." Denmark poured another cup of coffee. "All this" – he waved his hands around at the chalet, the food – "this is some pretty fancy stuff. Caterers working on Christmas day? What exactly did you do for Swissy, that's worth all this? He's normally so stingy!"

Before England could answer, Romano turned and snapped, "He can't tell us. Confidentiality agreement."

"Whoa! Was it a hit man contract? I bet it was," Prussia said with wide eyes. "Shit, I hope it works out. I'd hate to think what all this would cost if you couldn't deliver and actually had to pay him."

"Cheh, you'd have to help pay too, bastard."

"Why does everybody think Switzerland and I are involved in hit man stuff? You are all tossers."

"Well, then, tell us."

"I can't. Romano was right. I have a confidentiality agreement. But," he argued, before they could shove their oars in again, "after January twenty-third, I'll be able to tell you, if you still care."

"That's almost a month away. I don't know if I can wait that long, kesesese."

"Nothing you can do about it, wanker."

After both England and Romano had the food they wanted, everyone went back into the great hall. "You said something about Santa?"

"Yeah, check it out! Look at all the stuff. And that's besides the Swissy breakfast stuff, too. What a great day this is going to be."

Everyone sat around and ate while Denmark played elf and handed out presents.

"You should have a Santa hat," Romano joked.

"Uh," Prussia said, biting into a piece of cake.

"What?"

"Just thinking about Den in a Santa hat," Prussia said airily.

"What's so _uh_ about that, wanker?"

Romano snickered. "Ah, ha ha, he means _just_ in a Santa hat and nothing else, don't you, albino potato?" At this, Prussia stared up at the Christmas tree, blushing, but didn't speak. Denmark took a drink of coffee to hide his face.

This was followed by roaring laughter from the other two. "Ha, that would be bloody hilarious," England gasped out.

"Good thing we don't have a Santa hat around," Romano agreed.

"Can we get on with the presents?" Denmark tried to sound businesslike, but he was too excited. He brought Prussia and England each a big oblong box.

"You got me a gift, Den?" England was confused.

"That's from me, bastard. Denmark helped me pick it out, though."

Prussia had already eagerly opened his box. " _Sweet_! Denmark, this is awesome! You are awesome!" He displayed a hollow-body Gretsch electric bass. "Yesss!" He stood up, struck a pose, and played a little riff. "Damn, I'm hot." Denmark laughed at him.

England, who had watched this in astonishment, suddenly opened his box, while Prussia continued to play around with his bass. "Romano! _Romano!_ "

Denmark and the half-nation both started grinning at the excited look on England's face. Prussia turned to look. "What is it?"

"It's more awesome than yours, git." From the box he drew a gleaming Rickenbacker electric guitar with the Italian flag airbrushed on it. "How on earth did you know?" he breathed to Romano. "And the bloody Italian flag!"

"Like I said, bastard, Den helped."

"I knew you were coveting that one," Denmark offered. "I didn't know he'd had the Italian flag 'brushed on, though."

"Th-thank you so much, Romano," he blushed, looking at his friend. "Now we don't have to listen to Prussia all day!" He sat the guitar on his lap and played a little bit. Romano was surprised at the weak plinking sound that came from the instrument. "Too bad I don't have an amp, though."

"Kesesese, well, I guess you will have to listen to me all day!"

Denmark got a funny smile and handed England and Prussia each a little box.

"Now what?"

"These are from me. Open them."

Prussia eagerly ripped his open, while the island nation took his time about it. "How cute! Tiny little amps with batteries!"

England plugged his in right away and sat on the floor cross-legged, messing around tuning the guitar. "Thanks, Denmark."

"Wait a minute," Romano said, "just wait. What about Denmark? Didn't you get him anything, potato brain?"

"Oh yeah! Over in the corner." Prussia waved his hand towards a big lumpy thing covered with a blanket. "Go take the blanket off, Den. This is going to be the rockin'-est Christmas ever, ever, _ever,_ kesesese! Open it, open it. Iggy, you _are_ a fucking genius; I just hope you don't piss Swissy off. I want to do this again next Christmas."

Denmark pulled the blanket off and began laughing hysterically. "How did you know?" It was an electronic drum kit. "Where the hell did you get the money?"

"Uh, I borrowed some from West…and Austria…and Hungary…and Iggy…Well, you told me Romano was getting that Rick for him, so it seemed like a good idea. He helped me set it up yesterday without you seeing it, when you and Romano were in the pool. _Rock_!" he suddenly yelled in exuberance. Denmark carefully moved the drums into the middle of the room.

"Can you bastards actually play together? You talk about it all the time, but I've never heard you play, or, or England singing," Romano blushed, remembering the times England had sung to him at Barracuda. "Not for real."

"Yeah, we can play," Denmark said, fiddling with the drums. "What about you, though? Didn't England get you a present?"

Romano flushed deeply. "Uh, yes, he did…he gave it to me upstairs."

"I bet he did! Kesesese! Was it good? I bet it was!"

"Is your mind always in the fucking gutter, albino potato?" Romano started to launch himself at Prussia, who held up his bass in defense. Romano didn't want to damage the new gift, so he backed down. "Play something for me," he then demanded.

The three of them thought a minute, waiting for England to come up with a song choice. He stood up, adjusted the guitar, and started the quick opening notes to Heart's "Crazy on You."

"Yeah!" Prussia yelled, and he and Denmark joined in, and they played better than they ever had before. Prussia and England jumped all over the place while they played and sang; Romano just sat back and enjoyed the show.

As England's voice and Prussia's bass ended the song, the island nation threw his head back and sighed in happiness. "Best bloody Christmas ever… even though I had to spend it with you wankers," he laughed, and went over to Romano. "Did you like it? Are we good?"

"Cheh. You're all right, I guess," but Romano couldn't keep the blush off his cheeks. "Yeah, you were amazing." He kissed England's cheek. "Fun to watch, too. Play some more?"

They looked over at the other two; Prussia was explaining the merits of his new bass to Denmark. "Oi, you gits want to play some more?"

"Yes!"

The friends spent much of the day playing and singing for Romano, who, although not a rock fan, enjoyed the impromptu concert very much. England was so obviously having fun. Romano worried briefly that he was a boring boyfriend, but every time he caught the blond's eye, he was surprised by the tender expression on his face. Dammit, he was thankful for Denmark's meddling.

…

At the end of the day they went upstairs, exhausted but happy. "Mind if I shower? All that jumping around got me really sticky." England blushed when he said that.

"Sure, go ahead. There's a full moon – I'm going to turn the couch around so we can sit down and look out at the lake, all right?"

"That's a great idea."

The blond came out of the shower in pajama pants, toweling off his hair, and hurried over to sit on the couch. Romano leaned up against his shoulder, and England leaned down to scoop his friend's legs over his lap. "You can be closer to someone this way," he snarked, "face-to-face instead of side-to-side, you see?"

"Bastard."

They cuddled in the moonlight for a while, occasionally sharing a soft kiss. "Romano?"

"Mm?"

"This really has been the best Christmas ever. I'm so – so glad we're together."

Romano stroked his hair and gazed into his eyes, reflecting the full moon hanging over the lake, then leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "Let's stay together," he murmured, holding England close.

England's arms tightened around him. "Best idea you've ever had."

…

 _Denmark gave them Honeytone amps, which are about the size of four stacked slices of bread._


	24. Liechtenstein's Birthday Party

**Liechtenstein's Birthday Party.**

"So, next weekend is my thing with Switzerland. Do you want to come along? He did invite you." England poured himself a cup of tea, cradling the phone between ear and shoulder.

"He did? But I don't even know what this damn 'thing' is, bastard. How can I decide if I want to go?"

"Yes, but I'm still bound by the confidentiality agreement. How can I tell you what it is?"

An impasse, while they considered this.

"Well, forget it then, bastard. I have plenty of stuff I can do that day, it's not like I have to spend it with you."

"Look, Romano, don't get shirty with me. I'm honoring a prior commitment. Or would you prefer to risk Switzerland's anger?"

"Yeah, I understand. I just hate this, that you can't tell me."

"I know; it's not making me happy either. But really…it's kind of trivial."

"Swissy splashed out that much money for something _trivial_?"

"Trivial to you or me, I mean. We don't have the same kind of priorities that he does."

Romano scoffed. "I'll say. Well, give me a call when you're done, maybe you can come over or something."

"That sounds good. I'll probably need some de-stress time afterwards."

They talked for a few more minutes of this and that before hanging up for the night.

England sighed. He had the Liechtenstein plans all set up; his magical friends knew about it and were prepared to go to the party. In any case, he did want to talk to Switzerland about the chalet, so it was a good opportunity.

…

When the 23rd arrived, England donned a suit and tie and left for Switzerland's house. His magical friends had assured him they'd meet him there, and he had no concerns on that point. Captain Hook and his leprechaun friend had opted out of the party, in case they made the birthday girl uneasy, so only Tink, Uni and Flying Mint Bunny would be joining them.

England turned off his cell phone, not wanting to be ungentlemanly and take calls in the middle of a party. Especially not at Switzerland's place; that could be risky. He slipped it back into his pocket and rang the doorbell.

Before anyone came to answer, his friends surrounded him. "Hey, I'm so happy to see you all!" He rubbed the heads of the animals, letting Tink kiss him on the nose. They heard a shuffling inside the house.

Switzerland looked around as he opened the door. "England, thank you for coming. Were your friends unable to join us?" He got a slightly irritated frown on his face.

"Ah, well, Switzerland." The island nation paused for a few seconds before entering the home; this was to allow his friends to precede him, but Switzerland couldn't see them, of course. "They're here with me, but our contract was for Liechtenstein to see them – not you. I hope you understand. This is a quite radical departure from the norm for them – or for me." He pushed his hands through his hair, hoping he wasn't going to be stuck speaking like a lawyer all day.

Switzerland huffed. "This is all so very irregular," he muttered, leading the way through the house. "But I suppose it has to be done this way. Please come into the parlor; I have set up tea and cakes, and Liechtenstein is waiting for her surprise."

"Does she know what the surprise will be?"

The Alpine nation actually got a fond smile on his face. "I told her some friends were coming to visit – not who those friends were."

"You're a very thoughtful brother."

Switzerland nodded. "Liechtenstein means everything to me."

"I would like to ask you a favor, though, before we go into the parlor." England held his breath and hoped he wouldn't get shot for asking this.

"What favor?"

"Since you'll be unable to see my friends, I would be most strongly appreciative if you could – if you could divest yourself of your firepower for the afternoon."

Switzerland frowned. "What, _all_ my guns?"

"I have reasons. For example, if you see Liechtenstein physically moving in a way you think might be impossible – for example, floating a few feet off the ground, or approaching you at too high a rate of speed – I don't want you to accidentally shoot her in a panic."

A moment while Switzerland considered this. "That is a valid point." He removed the Desert Eagle from the holster at his waist. England watched in amazement as he then slid a Sig Sauer from an underarm holster. Then he shrugged the rifle off his back. This appeared to be everything – but then Switzerland bent and pulled a .357 Magnum revolver from each boot and put them on the table. Bloody hell.

The two of them stepped into the parlor. Liechtenstein sat at a large ornate table with a beautiful china tea service on it. She looked pretty, in a frilly dress, not wearing the usual military-style clothing she normally favored. England considered her objectively. She looked much more appropriate this way.

When the girl saw them approach, she got an astonished look on her face and stood up. "England? How nice to see you," she said politely. Switzerland kept madly looking around him, apparently for evidence that the magical friends would appear.

"Happy birthday, Liechtenstein," England said, handing her a flat, wrapped package. She placed it on the table.

"Thank you." Turning to Switzerland, she told him how nice it was that he'd invited England, whom they rarely got to see.

Switzerland was getting anxious. He looked at England questioningly; the island nation spoke hastily, to reassure him. "Ah, yes. Liechtenstein, Switzerland has arranged a very special gift for you this year. Can you step over here?"

With a quizzical look at her brother, she did as requested, and then her face beamed in astonishment as Uni materialized in front of her.

"Oh!" she cried, clapping her hands together. "Oh, England! Oh, _Bruder_!" Her young face beamed as she turned to Switzerland.

"Liechtenstein, this is Uni. Uni – Liechtenstein."

"I'm so very pleased to meet you," Uni said quietly. "England has told me a little bit about you, but you are even prettier in person." Liechtenstein, still unable to speak for excitement, blushed.

"What? What?" Switzerland growled in the background, staring at the empty space before Liechtenstein.

"And this is Tinkerbell." The tiny fairy flew up to hover above Uni's head.

"How beautiful!" Liechtenstein extended her hand, and Tink landed on it like a butterfly. "Hello!"

Flying Mint Bunny appeared on England's shoulder. "Oh! A bunny!"

"Yes, this is Flying Mint Bunny."

"Hey, Liechtenstein," Flying Mint Bunny said. "Are you having a good birthday?"

"I am now!" she sighed in happiness.

When England turned back to Switzerland he was alarmed to see the confused rage on his face. "Er – guys – why don't you and Liechtenstein go explore the house for a while? I need to talk to Switzerland."

"Oh, _Bruder_ ," the birthday girl sighed, coming to embrace Switzerland. "Thank you so much. This is a wonderful gift! Is it all right with you if I show them our home?" Her brother nodded curtly, and she skipped off, apparently alone, apparently speaking to the air.

The sound of her footsteps pattered off in the distance. "Please have a seat," Switzerland gestured with a sigh.

England knew he had to eliminate his host's tension. A change of topic should do it. "Thank you again for the generous use of the chalet. We had a wonderful time. It's remarkably beautiful in Interlaken."

"I know. I bought that chalet many years ago, but it has turned out to be too large for my needs, and so it stands empty. I've never even stayed there."

Well, that answered the sauna question, at least. England fought to restrain a grin. "Isn't it expensive to keep the staff on call? Not to mention the headaches of administration."

"I have a management firm that keeps it up for me. One phone call sets everything in motion." Switzerland poured out some tea for England and coffee for himself. "I trust it was satisfactory?"

"More than satisfactory. We're already discussing whether we should rent it from you next Christmas, assuming you're amenable." This was a bit of a stretch, but it at least provided a conversation point.

"I don't mind a bit, but I've actually been thinking of selling that one. It's too similar to my chalet in Lausanne."

"You – would you sell it to me?" He held his breath. Ah, but he probably couldn't afford it, even if Romano and the others chipped in.

Switzerland cocked an eyebrow at him. "You really liked it that much?"

His guest blushed. "I – yes, we did – but upon reflection, I could probably not afford to buy it. Not at this time." He took a sip of tea. "What's the market value, if I might ask?"

"About eight million Euros, I'm guessing. When I bought it, it was less than that, but it's been upgraded and well-maintained, and Interlaken property values have gone up significantly in recent years."

England sighed. "Yes, eight million Euros is out of my league, I'm afraid…at least for a home that would only see use at Christmastime."

"Why limit yourself to Christmastime?" Of course. If Switzerland could scent a profit, he'd push the discussion forward. "Interlaken is beautiful at all times of the year."

That was a valid point, too. "You're rather persuasive, Switzerland, but there's still the matter of finances to consider." He sipped at his tea again. "Let me look into it when I get back home."

From elsewhere in the house they could hear Liechtenstein's delighted laughing. England, of course, could hear his friends, but Switzerland was clearly discomfited at the girl's unanswered giggles.

"This is all so difficult for me," he muttered. "How can I be comfortable in a situation like this? It's completely outside my experience."

"Don't worry. My friends will make sure no harm comes to her. However, I do have a favor to ask you about today." He looked down into his teacup. "You know that most nations don't believe in my magical friends, who tell me that only one other nation has been able to sense them – well, two now," he said, fondly thinking of Romano, before recollecting his audience and forcing his mind back to the conversation. "No others have actually laid eyes on them. At any rate, although I'm comfortable with them – assisting – with Liechtenstein's birthday this year, this will not be a regular occurrence, unless they want it to be. This is not something I would have done for any other nation." Well, Romano, maybe, if he'd really wanted it, but he doubted that would ever happen. "I don't want this to become a type of favor that other nations begin asking for." He pushed his hands through his hair. "Ah, I'm just asking you and Liechtenstein to keep it confidential."

"Certainly. I believe that my sister will treasure the knowledge that she is in the elite group permitted to see them," he smiled smugly. "I'll discuss it with her after you've left."

"Thanks, Switzerland. I appreciate your willingness to cooperate."

The two drank in silence for a few minutes before Liechtenstein and the friends came back into the room. " _Bruder_ , this is the best gift ever. Thank you, England!" She turned to the friends. "Do you drink tea?"

"It gets in my fur," Flying Mint Bunny apologized.

"I drink tea, if you can serve it to me in a saucer." This from Uni.

Tinkerbell floated around in the air. "I don't drink! Thank you for offering, though."

Liechtenstein sat next to Switzerland and poured tea into a saucer for Uni.

"Uni takes two sugars," England offered; Liechtenstein smiled at him and dropped two sugar lumps into the saucer.

Switzerland, who had been calm before Liechtenstein's entrance, began to appear agitated again – especially when the saucer of tea appeared to be evaporating at a high rate of speed. England sought for something to defuse the situation. "Why don't you open your gift?" he suggested to the birthday girl.

"Oh, yes. Thank you." She carefully unwrapped the present England had brought, a well-done sketch of the three magical friends, inside a plain but high-quality frame. "England, this is beautiful!" She showed it to Switzerland and then turned to the friends. "Now I will always be able to remember our special day together."

"You should cut the cake," Switzerland suggested, so she did. Flying Mint Bunny accepted a small slice of cake, since it was carrot cake, but Uni and Tinkerbell declined.

The three nations sat, drinking tea and chatting politely, with the occasional interruption from one of the magical friends. England had to periodically force Switzerland into a side conversation to eliminate the discomfort he could so clearly see on his face. The Alpine nation was surprisingly easy to distract this way.

After the cake had been consumed, Liechtenstein politely requested to be excused. "I'd like to show them around the grounds, _Bruder_ , is that permissible?"

"Just make sure you dress warmly," her brother warned her. "It's quite cold out." He turned to England. "Will your friends be all right in the snow?"

England nodded. "It won't be a problem. Have fun," he said to his friends.

They and Liechtenstein left the room.

…

"I'm curious about why no other nations can see you," Liechtenstein asked as she pulled on her sheepskin-lined boots. Earlier they'd explained her brother's agitation about them. "Surely there are plenty of nations that believe in magic?"

"It's getting more and more difficult, with all the scientific advances in the world. And every nation has its own type of magic, tied to the land. So, for example, even if your brother believed in magic, he might not be able to see us." Flying Mint Bunny swooped around the foyer.

"I very much appreciate being able to meet you. I've been asking Switzerland to approach England about it for many years. I suppose he finally got tired of me asking, so he broached the topic for this year." After she shrugged her coat on, they all went out into the beautiful snow-covered gardens. Of course at this time of year, there was very little foliage to be seen, but the layout and structure of the garden clearly showed the extraordinary effort that had gone into its planning.

They wandered around the cleared paths, Liechtenstein explaining the areas as they proceeded: the linden gardens, the rows of cultivated land where they planted endive each year. Flying Mint Bunny rode on her shoulder, and she periodically reached up to pet the creature's head.

"Your brother loves you very much," Tink offered after a while.

"Yes. Switzerland has cared for me exceptionally well, for a very long time. I love him very much, too."

"I believe England plans to ask him to keep our visit confidential. Will you be able to do that? I know Switzerland is strong on firepower, but England can call on magic forces if he needs to defend himself." Flying Mint Bunny sounded very earnest.

Liechtenstein considered this. At the moment, surrounded by England's cute "imaginary" friends, magic as a threat didn't seem too scary – but then, there were probably other, darker colleagues in England's magic arsenal. "I understand completely," she finally acquiesced. "I won't mention it to anyone, and I'll make sure _Bruder_ doesn't either. I don't imagine a gun can do much against a magic attack," she sighed.

…

Liechtenstein showed the friends around for about another hour before getting cold and wanting to go in. Uni graciously allowed her to ride, and they headed towards the house. Unfortunately, Switzerland had been gazing out the window, and when he saw his younger sister apparently floating a few feet off the ground, laughing, he freaked out. "What is going on?" He jumped out of his chair.

England looked out the window and stood to restrain his host. "Switzerland, stop. She's riding the unicorn, that's all. Hmm, I'm surprised Uni allowed her to do that." He paused to consider this. "Oh, well of course she'd be able to ride on Uni." Blast. He hoped that comment went right past Switzerland. Divested of guns or not, it could be dangerous.

But Switzerland simply stood staring out the window until Liechtenstein dismounted safely and came back in the house.

England got a shock upon seeing that it was nearly six o'clock. When Liechtenstein came back into the room, cheeks reddened with cold, he stood to take his leave. "I hope you have had an enjoyable day," he offered politely.

"Oh, yes, England. A beautiful day! Thank you so much," she effused, rising to press a kiss to his cheek. It startled him, but he accepted it like a gentleman, in the spirit in which it was intended. "I just wish it didn't have to end so soon."

"I'm sure England has prior commitments," Switzerland put in.

"We don't mind staying," Flying Mint Bunny offered.

"Can you get home by yourselves?" Liechtenstein wondered.

"Of course! We're magic, remember?"

This made the girl laugh again. "Then please stay!" She led the magic friends from the room again after a quick smile to her brother and his guest.

"Switzerland, thank you for your hospitality."

"You're welcome. Thank you again for your assistance with this – project. I haven't seen Liechtenstein so excited for a long time."

"Please remember our confidentiality agreement."

"Of course. I'll bring it to my sister's attention as soon as she tells me your friends have departed."

"You might wish to leave the guns on the table until she tells you that. I noticed how tense you are when they are interacting."

"Thank you for your concern." They shook hands.

…

After leaving Switzerland's cold home England headed straight for Romano's place, a gift bottle of Chasselas wine in hand. Maybe they could cook a cheese fondue tonight? He turned the corner onto Romano's street and was surprised to see his friend burst out the front gate of his home. England watched as he stomped off down the street in the opposite direction.

Well, this was bizarre. He decided to follow and surprise him. England went into James Bond mode, stealthily tailing his friend into the city. He watched him pace around a decorative fountain a few times and then sit on its edge.

What the hell was going on? Romano knew he'd be coming over, right? Why would he be outside, killing time on the edge of a public fountain? From the expression of anger that he could see, his friend was not at all happy. He had a brief moment of worry that perhaps the brunet was meeting someone else. If it was Spain –

England sat on the edge of the fountain to wait a few minutes. When no one approached Romano, he decided to speed things up a bit. He circled around to the back of the fountain and took his phone out of his pocket, powering it back on. Hmm, several missed calls, all from the half-nation. "Excuse me," he said quietly to a passerby. "Could you take a photo of me in front of the fountain? And make sure that guy appears in the background?"

The passerby snapped the picture and wandered off after thanks from the Brit. England sent the picture off to Romano's phone with the subject "Guess where I am" and sat on the fountain's edge, watching him from about twenty feet away.

He heard the phone beep. Watched Romano pull the phone eagerly from his pocket, check the email, cant his head to the side while he considered the picture. Then his friend stood up, turned around, and caught his eye. His expression shot from angry to relieved in a very short matter of time, and he ran around the fountain and grabbed England in a tight, fierce embrace.

 _"_ What's wrong?" England stroked Romano's hair, holding him with his other arm.

"You, you complete bastard," Romano choked out. Then he seemed to recollect he was hugging England in public, so he drew back quickly.

"What? I haven't even talked to you today."

"That's the problem, dammit! I've been calling you all day and you haven't answered! I thought maybe Swissy got mad and, and hurt you, or something." Romano looked shyly down at his feet.

"Settle down, all right? Switzerland was quite happy with how the day went, and I'm not hurt, and I ran down here as soon as I could, because I wanted to be with you. Why did you think I wouldn't?"

"You didn't answer my calls."

"Because I was a guest in someone's home! I apologize for not turning the phone on after I left his house, but I was in such a hurry to see you that I forgot."

Romano finally looked him in the eye, with the beginnings of relief. "So we're good?"

"Yes, we're fine!" He hugged his friend tightly.

Romano blushed and hunched his shoulders up. "Dammit, bastard, not in public," but he got a little smirk on his face and pecked a quick kiss onto England's cheek. "Let's go home."

…

 _Unicorn lore says that only a virgin can tame a unicorn._

 _Also, I have no idea what property values in Interlaken really are, these days. I looked on Sotheby's Realty and found a lot of things, none in Interlaken and none as richly-appointed as the fictional Swissy chalet, and they were all in the $6-million-and-up range, so I arbitrarily picked 8 million Euros._

 _If you have enjoyed this particular chapter, Anagram Stories chapter 9 is a follow-up to it._


	25. Coffee

**Coffee.**

Prussia and Romano are wandering around Berlin together.

How did this come to happen, you may ask? Romano can usually only tolerate Prussia when Denmark is with them to act as a buffer. Prussia, of course, will hang out with anyone who would listen to the musings of his awesome self. Denmark – and England – are nowhere to be seen.

But the day is beautiful, a fresh spring day, and Prussia is not acting too obnoxious. Yet. While they stop for coffee and cake, let's look back.


	26. Spaghetti Sauce

**Spaghetti Sauce.**

The island nation spoke warmly into the phone. "You know there's a world meeting coming up. Want to go?"

"Cheh, what on earth for? I never go to those things. Veneziano takes care of it for us." Romano tried to hold his phone between his ear and shoulder while he stirred a pan of sauce. His idiot little brother was coming over for dinner, and he wanted to get this sauce right – but he didn't want to hang up on his friend, either.

England tapped the phone randomly. "I know. I remember you came to the very first one, and never after that."

He remembered? Romano was touched. That had been long before they'd gotten together.

The blond continued speaking. "But this one's in America. And I really hate going to America, because of all the memories. It angers me to think about losing to that wanker."

This made Romano chuckle. "I see your point, but still don't see why you want me along. I can't do anything about him."

"I know that." England sighed. "But it's a five-day meeting. I just thought that if you were there, I'd be able to stay calm, and you'd distract me from the bad memories."

"Five days, bastard? Dammit, that's insane. I can't even take one day of those meetings."

"Well, you don't actually have to go to the meetings. You could hang out while I'm in the meetings, and then we could do touristy things or whatever afterwards."

"That's almost worse! Hanging around a hotel room for five days." He added some oregano to the sauce; intent on stirring, tasting, he didn't realize how silent England had gone.

"Right," the island nation finally said. "I guess you're right. I wouldn't want to go, either, if I didn't have to."

"Damn right. Now listen, I have to hang up, my sauce is almost done. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Sure. Have a good dinner. Say hi to Veneziano for me."

"Yeah. You enjoy your fucking meeting, bastard."

"'Bye."


	27. Cake

**Cake.**

And so, since both Denmark and England had left for the American meeting, Prussia and Romano found themselves at a loose end, and decided to spend some time together. Today was day two of the world meeting. Not that Romano was counting.

He found himself surprisingly dejected. He'd only spoken to England once since that phone call, and it hadn't been good. His boyfriend had been distracted and somewhat curt. Romano hadn't pushed it, though, assuming it was simply meeting-related stress.

"This is pretty good, for potato bastard cake," he said idly.

Prussia gave him a smug look. "Kesesese! Being with Iggy must be softening you up. That's cool." He took a sip of coffee and sighed.

"You're an idiot."

Prussia just laughed again.

Because Romano had his mind on England, his thoughts wandered to Denmark. Apparently he and Prussia were very happy together. He couldn't see it…couldn't see how anyone could put up with Prussia as a boyfriend _._ But there was someone for everyone in this marvelous world, and he was just thankful that the albino hadn't latched onto England at some point…or worse yet, tried to latch onto him. "Why aren't you at the world meeting?" he asked.

Prussia shrugged. "What would I do there? I have no status, so, no valid input."

"Thought maybe you'd like to see Washington. Hang out with Denmark, do touristy things. Date things."

Prussia looked at him with wide eyes. "I would have loved to hang out with Den and do touristy things, but…he didn't ask me." He fiddled with his spoon while Romano digested this information. "Did…did Iggy ask you?"

"Yeah, he did, but, dammit, five days of those stupid meetings?"

"But so what?" Prussia started to get agitated; Romano started to get nervous. Well, at least they were seated outside. They probably wouldn't get kicked out of _this_ coffee shop.

"What do you mean, 'so what'?"

"You could have found something else to do."

"For five fucking days?"

"Damn." The albino subsided into his chair. "I never knew you were so selfish. Poor Iggy."

"What are you talking about?" Romano asked irritably, but he was beginning to understand.

"Look, you know how conflicted he is about America. I mean, you do know, don't you? Even you can't be that obtuse. He's got to spend a whole week over there looking at all those monuments and shit, with his memories, and listening to America run off at the mouth, and deal with the boring meetings, too. And then his only choices for winding down will be either going to bars or hanging out alone, because his boyfriend wouldn't make a little personal sacrifice to help him out. You're brutal!"

Romano tried to shrug it off. "He'll probably hang out with Denmark, right? Just like you and I are hanging out today."

"Oh, Romano, you don't have a clue, do you?"

"Shut up, albino potato." Romano finished his coffee in silence.


	28. Tea

**Tea.**

England had been depressed long before he'd even left for the meeting, but he hadn't wanted to risk a fight with Romano right before his departure, so he'd put it on the back burner, intending to deal with it later. Perhaps the brunet had begun to tire of him. He thought back over their recent interactions and wondered whether that could possibly be true. It could be, but…it didn't seem like it.

He really cared for the fiery Italian, loved the energy and venom he brought into England's cold, isolated life. But by now he was feeling uncertain about whether Romano still wanted him. Surely he would have made the effort to come, after England had explained his apprehensions? He could easily ask Veneziano for information, but didn't want to get into the personal stuff with a third party, not when all the other nations were around. And what if Veneziano confirmed that his brother was losing interest? Bloody hell.

The second day of meetings was much the same as the first, tedious and pointless. Sometimes he sympathized with Germany a great deal. If the other nations could only focus better, a five-day summit could be completed in three days, or maybe even two. Some things had been satisfactorily accomplished, but not enough.

He sighed and pushed his hand through his hair, thinking back over the first day of meetings. Intensely annoying, that's about all you could say for them. America had not only been his loud, 'heroic' self, but because he was the meeting host, he'd been even more over the top, going off on insane tangents left and right. It didn't help that England had been seated between Greece – the man's yawns kept threatening to send him to sleep as well – and Switzerland. Anyone would be wary of sitting next to Switzerland! All the free tea he could drink wasn't helping (and the stuff America served was garbage out of cheap tea bags, anyway). England had swung between poles of boredom and irritation until he'd finally exploded in disgust, pounding his fist on the table and awakening Greece with a start.

"Iggy, calm _down,_ " America had drawled, but the other nations had seemed so relieved at the interruption that the meeting had been adjourned for that day.

England had managed to avoid going out and getting drunk at the first day's after-meeting party, but he could feel his resolve beginning to crumble. He knew that it wouldn't solve anything, and he'd feel like hell the next day, but his boredom, irritation, and worry about Romano were making him crave company and possibly also massive amounts of liquor. He decided that he just might go along tonight – _if_ anyone asked him to.

What timing. "Lucky you! You get to come out drinking with me and my Nordic friends!" Denmark sneaked up behind him and slipped an arm around his shoulders. They'd just broken for lunch on the second day, and England felt a little flutter of relief that someone had remembered him. He'd spent the evenings since Saturday in his hotel room, not trusting himself to wander America's capital, with its memories and associations, alone.

"Yes, all right," he responded cheerfully. "I could use a drink."

" _A_ drink?" Denmark asked. "You'd better be prepared to drink more than one!"

England laughed. "Believe me, Den, that's starting to sound like a bloody good idea. Let's go."


	29. Wine

**Wine.**

Romano had not been entirely in denial since his talk with Prussia that afternoon. But what could he do about it now? Over a glass of wine, he tried phoning England's cell phone, but got no response. Maybe the island nation didn't turn it on when overseas? Maybe – maybe he was so pissed off that he wouldn't answer? Dammit, he wished he'd talked to England about this before the meeting. Well, he could talk to him when he got back, right?

But as the day went on, the thoughts began to intrude more and more strongly, until that night Romano found himself unable to sleep. _It's just a fucking meeting,_ he told himself, but his conscience warned him that he was going to have to face facts sooner rather than later. He forced the pillow over his head angrily and tried to get back to sleep.


	30. Peanuts

**Peanuts.**

The after-meeting party was in full swing. Denmark and Norway had managed to snag a large table in the corner of the bar, where the five Nordics and England happily tried all sorts of drink combinations. Iceland had opted out, and sat gazing around the rest of the room, but the rest of the nations at the table guzzled all the liquor they could handle.

England had started out trying to restrain himself from overindulgence. He felt a little tipsy, but nothing to worry about, not if he stopped right now. Denmark was going to be far worse off than he. The two of them huddled into the corner of the table, talking in low tones. "Wish Prussia was here," Den hiccupped. "We could go sing." He sipped his drink.

"Don't feel like singing."

"Why not?"

"Romano's an arse," England blurted out. He was startled when Denmark started laughing very loudly. "What? What the bloody hell are you laughing at, git?"

"He's always an 'arse'! Didn't you ever realize that?" Den continued to hoot long howls of laughter.

"Shut it." England pelted him with a peanut, which only made the Dane laugh more. "Anyway, why isn't Prussia here? Didn't he want to bother, either?"

"Prussia doesn't come to world meetings. He has no reason to, since he's only an ex-nation."

"Didn't you invite him?"

"Huh? What for?"

"You wanker. So he could spend time with you! So you could spend time with him! So he wouldn't be so lonely…I bet _he_ would have agreed to come," he finished, weakly.

"Romano wouldn't come to the meeting with you?" Denmark downed the rest of his drink and motioned to the waitress for another one. England didn't answer, since he thought it was fairly obvious.

Den continued to poke him and taunt him, but while the island nation got more and more morose, he managed to ignore all that, watching the crowd, sliding further into depression. He finished his own drink, and when it didn't seem to help, he decided to leave.

By this point Denmark had apparently gone off into some kind of la-la land of his own, head on the table. "Are you going to be all right, git?"

"D'nt worry 'bout him, we'll make sure h'gets back t' his r'm."

"Thanks. His room's right next to mine, but I can't carry him, he's too bloody big. I'll see you tomorrow." He sloped off, out of the bar and back to his hotel room, sadly thinking about Romano. Could he call him? Maybe they could talk? Hotel phone rates were freakishly expensive, though, and he'd stupidly left his cell phone on the charger, in his townhouse. Anyway, it was still the middle of the night in Italy. Bollocks. Well, maybe he'd call him tomorrow. Probably not such a good idea to call when he'd been drinking.

…

 _Sweden is very hard to write dialogue for, dammit._


	31. Hot Dogs

**Hot Dogs.**

Day three dawned in Europe. Romano felt like he hadn't slept at all. When the phone rang at six, he jumped at it, hoping to hear from England, but instead, his ear was filled with a loud "Kesesese!"

"Yeah, what, bastard?" he growled.

"Got a great idea, Romanooo~," the albino sang out. "I'm so awesomely brilliant!"

"It had better be good, you idiot, you woke me up."

"Oh, it's a good one, babe. Let's go to America."

" _What_?" Romano was fully awake now.

"Yeah, brilliant, huh? Let's go to Washington and surprise England and Den! Come on, there's still three days left until they get home, nothing to do, you need to make it up to Iggy, come on, come _on._ We can eat hot dogs, yeah! _"_

Fucking American wurst. Of course Prussia would focus on that. "Let me think about this. I'll call you back."

"Okay, but don't wait too long! We can get a flight out of Frankfurt at one and be there before midnight local time."

"Augh, shut up and let me call you back!" He hung up on the infuriating (but just possibly very helpful) albino and lay back on the bed to think.

Hell, he didn't need to think about it. Romano knew that the sooner he cleared the air with England, the sooner he'd be able to relax again. "Yeah, bastard, let's do it. Meet you at the airport at eleven?"

"Yeah, awesome, Romano, I knew you'd say yes. Uh…can I borrow some money?"


	32. Stale Coffee

**Stale Coffee.**

Third day of meetings, same as the other two. A huge snoozefest. At one point England actually put his head down on the table and tried to sleep, but he was uncomfortably aware of the proximity of the gun in Switzerland's thigh holster, so he couldn't relax.

Denmark hadn't even shown up until lunchtime, and even then, he looked really miserable. Norway had explained that after England's departure, Den had continued to drink, moaning about missing some wino, until he'd slumped on the table, passed out. Sweden had indeed had to help him back to his room.

During the afternoon break England went to talk to him. "Are you all right? You were pretty soused last night, from what I hear."

Den, with his head on the table, groaned. "Yeah, I'll be all right. I'm just miserable, that's all."

"Miserable how?" England pulled out the neighboring chair and sat down. "I mean, physically or mentally?"

"Both," the spiky-haired man groaned. "Either. Physically, mentally, romantically…"

"Hey, don't worry about it. You'll be all right. Prussia's probably having a good time cooking up some fun plan for you when you get back."

"Argh."

"Have some more coffee. I know American coffee is shite, but it's better than nothing. Want me to get you a cup?"

"Yeah, thanks."

England filled two cups with stale, lukewarm coffee and returned to where Den was attempting to wake up. "Here."

His friend took the cup and chugged it down. "Thanks. I needed that."

"Don't worry about Prussia." England ruffled Denmark's hair gently, so as not to exacerbate his hangover. "He'll be all right. He probably hasn't even thought about you inviting him."

"How could I have been so stupid, though? I mean, it didn't even occur to me to ask him!"

"Yeah, well, that's not always a guarantee of success."

"What? Oh, right! You asked Romano to come? Why isn't he here?"

"Meetings too bloody boring, not interested, couldn't stand the idea, _not fucking interested_ ," England spat.

"You're kidding." This admission made Denmark sit straight up. "Ow." He clutched his head.

"No." The shorter nation put his head in his hands.

"Wow, that's pretty damn harsh. He actually said that?"

"He actually said that."

"Damn."

A moment while the two friends marinated in their own misery and bad coffee.

"All right, everybody, time to get back to the meeting!" America's voice rang through the halls. "Come on, people, let's get today wrapped up!"

People began filtering back into the room. England went back to the neutral zone between Greece and Switzerland, sunk in a pool of self-pity. Bleah.


	33. Beer

**Beer.**

"I'm going out drinking again," Denmark announced after the meeting broke up.

"You're bloody insane! You're not even over yesterday's hangover yet!"

"Hair of the dog, all that stuff. Come on, let's go drown our sorrows."

"Den, that's never a good idea. Besides, if you go through the rest of the week drunk or hung over –" England let the suggestion hang in the air, hoping his friend would see reason.

"Forget it. I want to drink. I tried calling Prussia today and he wasn't home. I tried six times, and he didn't answer!"

"Did you try his cell?" Damn, that reminded England about his own cell phone, sitting in his kitchen. What an arse he was sometimes.

"He doesn't have one. Germany won't let him. Afraid he'll spend too much money, or spend time downloading porn."

"Wankers. Like Germany's one to talk. Do you have your cell? I left mine at home by accident."

Denmark pulled out his phone and handed it to England. "Gonna call Romano?"

England considered. "Well…we, er, we probably have a lot to talk about. I don't necessarily want to start that conversation right now. Never mind, put the phone away. Let's go get discreetly drunk."


	34. Chocolate

**Chocolate.**

"You fucking albino moron. Now what? How are we supposed to get into their hotel rooms? Why didn't we think of this sooner?"

Prussia frowned. "I'll just tell the concierge that we're joining them. It'll be fine!"

"Yeah, like that's going to work. What an idiot," Romano snarled.

Prussia walked over and spoke to the slight young woman behind the desk, smiling at her seductively. Romano continued to scowl at him from across the lobby. Then the concierge handed Prussia two room keys and a small box of gift chocolates.

Dammit. He'd never hear the end of this one.

"Do I hear the word 'awesome' approaching your lips?" Prussia asked archly, swaggering back to him, brandishing the chocolate box.

" _Chigi!_ No. I don't – you – uh. Yeah, all right, that was pretty awesome. All right?" Romano watched Prussia's face glow into incandescence. "Just – just don't keep going on about it. What rooms are they in?"

"Right next to each other!" Prussia handed him a key and they went up in the elevator together.


	35. Pretzels

**Pretzels.**

Denmark relaxed with his head against the wall of the bar. England felt in marginally better condition, the key word being 'marginally.' Things had started out all right: they'd eaten some pretzels, sung a few songs while seated at the table, and then quickly gotten maudlin. England had burst into tears, head cradled in his arms on the table; Den had stroked his hair for a few seconds before starting to cry himself. All the Nordics had moved away, deeply embarrassed, although Sweden did appear to be keeping an eye on them as they slumped into each other. The crying jags had ended, and they'd stopped drinking, but both of them seemed content to sit morosely at the table, crushing pretzels into crumbs, rather than leaving the bar.

America sauntered up and poked the island nation in the shoulder. "Hey, Iggy, you ought to go to bed, you look terrible, and you're going to be in crap condition for the meeting tomorrow!"

Ugh. How could the brat be so damn perky? "Sod off, wanker," he grunted out.

"Ah, no way, man! I'm the hero, so I'm going to make sure you get to your room safely!" America struck a heroic pose before sliding his arm around England and pulling him out of the chair. "Hey, _Sweden_!" he yelled. "Will you be able to deal with Denmark? I'll get Iggy back to his room." Sweden nodded. "Cool, see ya tomorrow!"

As the two of them left, someone pushed rudely past them to go in. They'd only gotten a few steps before they heard a loud, drunken, happy yell from Denmark. England turned to look and – bloody hell, there was Prussia on Denmark's lap, kissing him and running his hands through his hair. The other Nordics had all frozen in shock, and America too. Denmark just kept laughing and laughing.

"Hey, Iggy!" Prussia called out behind him. "Nice to see you, kesesese!"

Could this day get any worse? The island nation nodded weakly, waving, and followed America out of the bar. Depression was settling in again. Of course Prussia would be bold enough to fly over to Washington, even though he'd not been invited. Well, he was happy for Den, anyway. Bloody hell.

And he did not want to deal with America at all. It was fairly late – nearly two – and the hotel was deserted. America reached down and plucked England's key out of his back pocket to check the room number. "Hey, hey, hey, get your bloody hands off my arse," the Brit protested in a mumble.

"Haha, don't worry. Just getting your room key. Let's go. I'll make sure you get to bed safely."

"I hate you, you tosser. I'm fine."

"Haha, sure ya are." America followed England into the elevator and they rode up to his floor. The hero threw open the door to the dark room and shoved the island nation inside. Then he shoved a little more, knocking England onto the bed without turning on the lights. "There ya go, dude," he said breezily, throwing the key card onto the drunken man's frame. "Hey, Iggy, why are you so drunk tonight, anyway? You and Denmark have been drinking a lot this week."

He didn't want to talk about this with America. "Just – just get out, git."

America stood there looking down at him. "Come on, tell me."

A weak "wanker" floated up from the depths of the mattress.

"Oh, whatever. Hey, wash up and get to bed, all right? I won't expect you at the morning session." America laughed raucously. "Dude, you're going to be way miserable tomorrow!" He left, still cackling, closing the door behind him.

"I'm way miserable now, you stupid, stupid…" England rolled over until he was looking up at the ceiling. Damn America. Well, he'd better make an effort, at least. He kicked off his shoes and jacket and rolled back onto the bed. "Bloody Romano. Why the hell didn't he come with me?" he cursed. After another minute he got up and stumbled into the bathroom.

When he came back out, clad in just his boxers, he stood looking at the bed. He'd left the curtains open and a little city light and moonlight trickled in. The bed was rumpled and looked inviting. He crossed over to it and slid between the sheets, lying face-down with his head in his arms. "Bloody hell."


	36. Hamburgers

**Hamburgers.**

Romano, in t-shirt and sweat pants, had startled out of a nap when he heard the hotel room door opening. From his chair in a darkened corner, he'd watched, alarmed, as America, silhouetted by the hallway lights, pushed an apparently drunken England into the room. Dammit, he suddenly realized, this was a _colossally_ bad idea. He waited, frozen in fear, for something uncomfortable to start. America threw England onto the bed, and Romano closed his eyes so he wouldn't need to see them kissing – or, or anything else. Just – just – dammit, no…please, no.

And then England had told the meeting host to get out.

So there was hope, unless he was too drunk to fight off America's advances. But Romano would help with that, if he could. He hoped it wouldn't come to that; the hamburger bastard was huge. He felt very angry that someone would bring a drunken nation – any nation, not just England – to a room to take advantage. That's the kind of stupid thing stupid France would do – or _Spain..._

But to Romano's amazement, America had simply called out a couple of rude comments and left, laughing. The Italian watched England with pounding heart, wondering how to approach him, watched him take off his shoes, grumble about an absent Romano – yeah, that hurt, that hurt a lot, that England was so distressed about him. Dammit, he was a world-class bastard, to have treated his friend this way.

While England was in the bathroom, Romano slid under the covers, hoping he could make this all better, wondering where to start.

The blond came out of the bathroom and slid between the sheets across the bed. Romano's heart ached as he watched him turn and put his face down on the pillow. He reached out a hand to stroke the blond hair –

– and then froze as he heard a loud 'kesesese' from the other side of the wall. "Chigi!" he yelled, and punched the wall reflexively.

"Gah!" England flipped over on the bed with his eyes wide and misjudged, falling off the bed. "Ow, ow – what? Bollocks, today's the worst bloody day in my entire existence, bar absolutely none. Ow."

Romano crawled over the bed and peered down onto the floor. "You – you all right, bas–England?" he asked with a catch in his voice.

England's confused face was staring up at him in the weak light. "Romano? Am I dreaming? Ow. Oh, I'm probably just drunk. Oh..." He raised a hand to the back of his head gingerly. The Italian shook his head and reached out a hand to help the blond up. England took it. "What are you doing here?"

"Come up on the bed; let me explain." The island nation got slowly back onto the bed, sitting up; Romano moved closer to sit next to him. "Whoa, America was right. You smell like a fucking brewery."

"That's not helping." The blond lashed out with a weak punch, but it didn't hurt much. He put his head in his hands. Romano put his warm arms around him, stroking his hair, calming him down.

"You're absolutely right, England. I'm a – a monumental b-bastard." England cut his eyes to Romano without speaking. "Listen, I…I'm really sorry. I was, well, I was pretty selfish, and didn't think about how you would feel being alone here, in this place that hurts you so much. I hate to admit, it took the albino potato to make me see how much I hurt you. I would never hurt you on purpose, but I'm so cold sometimes." He swiped at his eyes with the back of a hand. Dammit, he would not cry.

England looked up. "Prussia said something that made sense to you?" He snorted through his tears. "The world is coming to an end."

"Ah, don't, don't, dammit, just – just let me hold you? Come on, please?" The island nation didn't answer, but didn't push him away.

After about a minute, Romano felt England relax into his embrace, resting his head on his shoulder. The brunet pressed a kiss to the messy hair and heard a sigh. "Will you forgive me, bastard?" he murmured softly into the island nation's hair.

England sat still for a while, not responding – long enough that Romano began to worry. Then he just nodded and slipped an arm around Romano's waist. For a long time the only sounds were England's deep breathing, subsiding to normal, and the sound of their hearts beating together. Then England turned his face to Romano and gently kissed him. "Thank you for being brave enough to come after me."

"Thank you for being strong enough to forgive me. Now we can be strong together."


	37. Espresso

**Espresso.**

In the morning light from the window, England awoke to the beautiful sight of a sleeping, relaxed Romano. He leaned over to check the time – still early yet! Not even eight! – and then leaned forward to kiss his friend's forehead.

Romano awoke with a sweet, soft smile on his face, blinked, and then reached out for a hug. They lay together, holding each other, feeling a deep peace and contentment for a few minutes. "Hey, git," England joked quietly.

Romano raised an eyebrow, but smiled. "Yes, bastard?"

"Do you want to get room service and have breakfast in bed?"

"What about your stup—your meeting? Doesn't it start soon?"

"America said he'd let me off the hook for the morning session. Come on – espresso and croissants, and strawberries, and whipped cream?" He put a pleading little look on his face.

"You had me at espresso," Romano laughed, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then stroked his fingers up and down England's bare chest. "But the whipped cream sounds pretty good, too."


	38. Pastaaaa!

**Pastaaaa!**

"Well, that was fun," Romano laughed, a few hours later. "Do you want to order lunch from room service, too? Do you have time before you have to go back to the meeting?"

"Might as well. I'm sure the morning session is over by now; I hope America remembered to have someone take notes for me." England picked up the phone and ordered their lunch of pasta and salad. Hanging up, he turned towards the bathroom. "I'm going to shower. Just let them in when they get here."

"Yeah, no problem."

...

Someone hammered on the door. Room service already? Pretty fucking rude of them to bang on the door that way. Romano, clad only in his sweatpants, crossed the room to open it.

"Ve~?"

" _Chigi!"_

Slam.


	39. Salad

**Salad.**

"Sorry, I shouldn't have done that, but you startled me," Romano explained, opening the hotel room door again. Veneziano peered into the room.

"Ve, it really is you, Romano! What are you doing here? I didn't know you were attending the meeting! I was looking for England's room, but I guess I got the wrong room."

"You got the right room. Come in."

"But –"

"Just come in!"

So Veneziano came in.

The brothers sat at the table and stared at each other. "So, you're in England's room – and you're not wearing a shirt," the younger grinned, raising his eyebrows. "Is there something you want to share with me, _fratello_?"

"Dammit, no, I…well, yeah…you should probably know..." Romano pushed his hands into his hair, resting his elbows on the table. "England and I have been dating for a while."

"Ve, that's great! How long is a while?"

"Hm, let me see, four months, more or less. Since the fall."

"Four months? Why have you been keeping it such a secret?"

"Why should we blab it to the world? But, you know, I've been meaning to tell you. Sorry."

"That's all right, Romano. I'm so happy for you both. And you came to the meeting to be with him? Why haven't I seen you around, though? The meeting's been going on for four days! Plus the weekend before."

The meeting was still a bit of a sore spot with Romano, so he avoided answering. Luckily for him, just then room service arrived with the lunch.

"Ve, I should leave you to your lunch. Where is England, anyway?"

"He went in to take a shower. I don't know what's taking him so long."

"Well, here are his notes from this morning! Germany took them, so they will be very good notes. Will you come to the meeting this afternoon?"

"Cheh, maybe, I don't know yet. I'll talk to you later."

" _Ciao, fratello!_ Me and Germany are in room 413 if you need us!"

"Yeah, thanks."

After Veneziano had left the room, England slowly peeked around the edge of the bathroom door. Romano looked up at him irritably. "Are you ever coming out of there? The lunch is getting cold."

"Give me a break. I didn't have any clothes in there, and I didn't want to come out and have to talk to your brother in nothing but a towel. All right?"

"Yeah, whatever. Get dressed and let's eat."


	40. Cheese and Crackers

**Cheese and Crackers.**

Germany had been racking his brains for weeks about a surprise party for Veneziano's birthday. The problem: he'd have to include Romano in the plans, too. This made all planning quite difficult. He wanted something special, not just a dinner at home, but the idea of persuading Romano to dinner at a German restaurant was almost physically painful. And the tall blond wasn't conversant enough with Italian restaurants, yet, to be sure of making a right choice.

Perhaps he could rope in another nation to assist him in planning a function? It would have to be someone who could keep his mouth shut. Switzerland? Well, he certainly fell into that category, but with Switzerland helping, the party would become nothing more than cheese and crackers in Germany's living room. Switzerland was not an option.

Certainly Prussia was out of the question. He would want to have the party at a beer hall and hire strippers and have darts competitions. Neither of the Italies would have fun at a Prussia-style party.

America was well-known for parties, but American parties were almost as insane as Prussia-style parties. And since he wasn't based in Europe, it would be difficult to coordinate things.

Austria, Poland…no, definitely not Poland…Spain? No, not if Romano would be attending. France? Well, that was a possibility. He might try to overwhelm the proceedings too much, but he did seem like an able party planner. Germany decided to talk to France once this Washington meeting was over and everyone had returned home.

…

America had not planned a party after that day's meeting. Therefore, Germany and Veneziano ate a peaceful dinner at the Kennedy Center's rooftop restaurant, after which they strolled on the roof and looked at the stars for a while. The blond was always so intrigued by the romantic ideas that Veneziano had.

"Ve, I found out something interesting today! Do you remember the day we went to breakfast at Romano's house, and England was there?" Veneziano turned his face to Germany's in the moonlight.

"Yes. England had just gotten into a fight with Spain…h-he and your brother were embracing, when I went back in for my cap."

"That's just it! They're dating! They've been dating since before that night, but _fratello_ would never tell me because he was too shy about it."

"How did you find out?"

"America sent me upstairs to England's room with your extra meeting notes, remember? Romano was there and we talked about it." Veneziano cuddled Germany's arm. "Ve, I hope things work out well for them. I really want my brother to be happy like we are."

Germany leaned down and placed a quick peck precisely in the center of Veneziano's forehead. "That would be very nice for him." Perfect. England is dating Romano; England can help plan the party.

…

England's voice on the phone sounded quite cheerful. "I don't mind a bit, old chap. Do you want it to be a surprise party?"

"Indeed. I have a few ideas but am somewhat stuck on the details. Perhaps we could meet and make some plans?"

"Righto. I'm free on Monday. We should probably meet somewhere that neither Romano nor his brother will stumble across us by accident – how about Berlin?"

"That sounds good. Shall I meet you in front of the Gedächtniskirche on Monday at noon?"

"I'll be there. And Germany – thank you for asking me to help. I'm looking forward to planning a bloody good party for them!"

…

 _Poor England will never find out he was Germany's last choice for party planning assistance._


	41. Dinner

**Dinner.**

"Hey, bastard, what are you doing next weekend?"

"I'm free all next weekend, but I'm busy on the 17th and 25th. We should start schedule-sharing so we don't have to go through this all the time." Of course, if they shared schedules, England would have to make up some fake appointments for the 17th.

"Dammit, you know the—" Romano interrupted himself.

"What? I didn't catch that."

"Ah, nothing. Listen, why don't you come down this Saturday and plan to stay over? There's an Italian Classics film festival in Rome both days."

"Sure, that sounds good. Listen, I have to go, I'll see you on Saturday."

"Bye, bastard."

…

The Brit had a surprising amount of fun planning the party with Germany. He was efficient and to the point, which England had expected, and within an hour they'd hammered out all the details. Germany would be making the local arrangements – they'd chosen to host it at a restaurant here in Berlin, as a central location for most of the guests – and England would handle the guest list and invitations, along with the delicate wording thereof. Germany also agreed to a secret scheme England had in mind to surprise Romano. They parted after a pleasant lunch on the Ku'Damm and promised to keep in touch.

…

"Kesesese! Hey, Veneziano, I hear West is taking you out to dinner in Berlin for your birthday! That's great."

"Yes, I'm very excited about it! I'm trying to get Romano to agree to go with us, but he's being pouty."

"You should definitely make him go." Prussia raised his eyebrows suggestively. "It's a fabulous restaurant."

…

France sounded very chipper on the telephone. " _Cher_ Veneziano, I hear you and Romano are going out to dinner in Berlin for your birthday! That's so nice of Germany."

"Ve, I know, I like going out to dinner with Germany."

"Make sure you and your brother dress nicely! It's an elegant place, they tell me."

…

"Italy, is it true that Germany is planning a nice dinner for your birthday, in Berlin, for you and Romano?"

"Hello, Austria! Yes, it's true. Romano and I are really looking forward to it." This was a bit of a stretch. Romano had only grudgingly agreed to go, and Veneziano still wasn't sure he could manage to drag his brother along when the time came.

"I am sure you will have a good time. That restaurant has a wonderful musical ensemble. There may even be dancing."

…

All these not-very-well-concealed hints from well-meaning friends did not entirely pass over Veneziano's head. "Come on, Romano, it's time to get ready for the p—dinner."

"Dammit, I don't even know why I'm going to this stupid dinner."

"Because it's our birthday! Because Germany's really nice and wants us to have a good time. Now come on, dress up nice, and we can go."

Romano grumbled, but did as his _fratello_ told him to do. Dammit _._ England, too busy or lazy to remember his birthday, was going to pay for this. The bastard hadn't even called with best wishes! But for his brother's sake, Romano dressed quite nicely, and tried to keep his irritation to himself. This was going to be the worst birthday ever.


	42. Champagne

**Champagne.**

The restaurant was indeed quite classy, Romano was pleased to see. There weren't many diners there yet. The host led them to a table at the edge of the dance floor, almost in the center of the restaurant, under the dimmed chandelier. Romano sat with his back to the stage, opposite Veneziano. A string quartet played soft music as they settled in.

"Ve, will there be dancing? I would love to dance with you, Germany."

"Ahem. Yes, I have been assured that there will be dancing tonight."

"And you, _fratello_ , will you please stop scowling? It's our birthday, ve _._ Try to relax and enjoy it."

"Cheh." Romano simply fiddled with his cutlery, staring down at the table. Yes, he'd sit through this meal, to make his little brother happy, but he was inwardly still fuming at England. He spent a few moments trying to devise a suitable punishment, but no good ideas occurred to him yet.

A waiter came and took their drinks order. The Italy brothers were intent enough on the menus that they did not see Switzerland, Austria, Hungary and Liechtenstein enter and get seated at a table in the corner. By the time they did look up, that party had all buried their faces in their own menus. They passed unnoticed by the Italies.

The entrance of Poland and Lithuania was more conspicuous, however, since Poland was wearing a pink silk dress with sequins on it. "Ve, isn't that Poland and Lithuania?"

Germany blushed and stared at his water glass. "It appears so. I - I know this restaurant is quite popular with many of our fellow nations."

Romano rolled his eyes. Wonderful. Not only a birthday without his boyfriend, _with_ the potato bastard, in a German restaurant, but now these two? England was a fucking heartless bastard. Romano began to wonder whether the blond was only doing this to pay him back for the business about the meeting in Washington. Hah.

The waiter returned with their drinks, and so they did not see America and Canada enter the restaurant and be led to a table near the Switzerland party. A few minutes later, France entered unnoticed and sat with the two of them.

Veneziano and Germany continued to try to draw Romano out of himself, conversationally, but he was determined to be irritable. "Just let me sit here and stew," he grumbled, staring at the tablecloth. "You two have a good time. The potato bastard dragged you all the way here, you should enjoy it."

"But you should enjoy it too, _fratello_! It's apparently a very good restaurant."

Romano had found a pasta dish on the menu. He was not to know that Germany had requested special menus for the evening. When the waiter arrived, he ordered the pasta. So he missed Japan's entrance. The dark-haired man joined France, Canada and America at their table.

After a while the restaurant was filled with the clinking of cutlery and the sounds of soft conversation. Thankfully, the meal tasted fine; Romano was not upset about its quality.

"Excuse me a moment," Germany said eventually, rising and crossing to the quartet.

As he walked away, Veneziano tried one more time to placate his angry brother. " _Fratello_ , please try to relax. We don't have a birthday every day, you know, and Germany did make such an effort to make us happy!"

"I know he did, but I still wish Eng—"

He was interrupted by a noise from the dais. A voluptuous blonde in a slinky sequined dress stood there, cupping the microphone, with Germany standing awkwardly next to her. He cleared his throat and the quartet struck up the dulcet tones of "Happy Birthday to You." The blonde, and Germany, and all the visiting nations, sang along, raising their glasses of champagne to the brothers Italy, one delightedly beaming, and the other turning bright red and hiding his face in his hands.

"Chigi! This is _so_ _stupid!"_

"Oh, Romano, calm down. It's just a song. Besides, ve, look! All our friends are here! I didn't even notice!" He turned in his seat to discover the other nations smiling and clapping for them, and waved excitedly.

"Not all of them," Romano growled. Dammit. Even Prussia and Denmark were missing. Bastards. _They_ were going to pay for this, too, eventually.

Germany came back to the table and sat down. Veneziano hugged him. "Germany, this is wonderful! So many of our friends, and a nice song! You sang beautifully, ve." Some movement on the dais caught his eye, and he began to smile in astonishment. Germany looked at him and put a finger to his lips. Romano, still bright red and staring at the table, was oblivious.

"Hey, check it, it's a rock band!" America yelled, loudly enough to drown out all the other noise in the restaurant.

"Shut it, wanker!"

Romano's head snapped up, but he didn't turn around. He froze.

"Heh…well, er…Romano, did you really think we'd ditch you on your birthday?" On stage, Denmark, Prussia and England burst into a heavy metal version of the birthday song.

Could he possibly have heard right? Slowly, he turned in his chair. Yes, indeed, there were his friends, trying not to jump too much, since it was a small stage. England was using his Italian flag guitar and grinning widely as he sang, looking right at Romano, who frowned, trying to fight the sappy feeling that was filling his heart. Dammit! That sneaky bastard. _Dammit!_

Frowning didn't seem to be working. He put more effort into a scowl, clenching his fists to make it hurt a little. This made both England and Prussia laugh, and then Romano gave up, sighed, and smiled wryly at them – just a little, mind you. People were watching!

When the song ended, everyone broke into applause and began milling around the room, greeting friends, congratulating the birthday boys. England and friends left the stage so the string quartet could resume and crossed to Romano at his table.

"You actually believed I would skip out on you on your birthday, git?" With a grin, England started to sit down next to him, but Romano stood up and embraced him in front of all the party guests, face aflame.

"You fucking bastard," he muttered into England's collar. The blond didn't answer, just put his arms around his friend and hugged him tightly.

It turned out to be a great birthday.


	43. Mind Over Matter

**Mind over Matter.**

"Come on, you guys, quit fighting!" Denmark pushed his friends apart. "Just because we always fight is no reason we have to always fight."

"What?" Romano was seriously baffled by that sentence; Prussia just laughed and gave up.

"Fine, then, whatever. Are we going to this convention center or what?"

"Well, before we go, I _have_ been wondering something." They were sitting under the oak tree; it was a really nice spring day. The three friends had invited England to join them for their day at the Messecenter, but he was busy all day and would only be joining them later, at dinnertime.

"I always worry when you start talking this way," Romano said. "Like you have some crazy idea you're trying to goad us into."

Den laughed. "Today, you're right! Here's my idea. See, you're always swearing, and Prussia's always fighting. I thought it would be interesting to make a bet to see if we could all get through the day without _any_ cursing or fighting! All the way to dinnertime, and then when England meets up with us, we can go back to normal. Wouldn't that be fun?"

"Da—that'd be nuts, Den," Prussia laughed.

"What, are you saying you couldn't handle it, albino potato?"

"He—heck, yeah, I could! But you can't fight with me." He turned to Denmark. "Can I say 'heck'?"

Denmark laughed; he'd known they wouldn't back down from a challenge like this. "Sure, 'heck' is all right. No physical fighting; none of your foul-mouth stuff, Romano."

"I can do it. Watch me, ba—uh, you guys." His friends laughed at him and he blushed.

"What are we betting?"

"Loser buys dinner?" They all considered this; it seemed reasonable.

"It has to be a nice dinner. Not something fancy, but not food court sh—garbage," Romano pointed out.

"Yes, yes, I agree. Do you agree, Den?"

"Agreed." The friends all shook hands with each other and moved off to the convention center.

"What if we all win?" Prussia suddenly asked.

"Cheh, like _that's_ going to happen."

…

The place was bustling. "Hey, can we get some coffee? I didn't get any today because I was in such a hurry to meet you— _guys_."

"Aww, you're so sweet, Romano. Yes, Den, let's buy the dangerous fu—ba—uh, what the he—, what the _heck_ , let's get some—coffee!" Prussia stamped his foot and rubbed his hands through his hair. "This is going to be a lot harder than I thought. Maybe I should just keep my mouth shut all day."

"Hmm, you do that, and dinner's on me!" Denmark grinned.

"Yeah, why don't you just cave in right now, ba—albino potato?"

"I don't have any money! I can't afford to lose!" Both his friends laughed at that.

"I think Den is going to win either way, da—uh, yeah. He almost never swears _or_ fights."

"Unless he's been drinking. He's a lot more vulgar then."

"We really need to go drinking together one of these days. And bring England, too," Denmark suggested.

"Shame he couldn't come with us today. What kind of work's he doing, Romano?"

"Some stupid workshop to prepare for an upcoming meeting. Apparently this was the only day he and America could both get together."

Prussia whistled. "Ooh, he's with _America?_ And you're not concerned?" He leaned over to tickle Romano under the chin; the Italian turned away with a frown.

"Why should he be concerned?" Denmark asked. "It's not like America has any interest in England these days."

"Da—oh, sh—, Den, that's so fu—so _harsh_!" Romano almost kicked his tall friend in anger before remembering the terms of the bet; he kicked the wall instead, then turned away and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Shut up!"

"Hey, I'm just stating a fact, all right? Not trying to insult my good friend England."

Romano may or may not have muttered "bastard" under his breath at this point but neither of the others could be sure. He hunched his shoulders under his thin spring jacket. "Come on; let's just walk, all right? Let's not talk about England."

"Ooh," Prussia started.

"Don't goad him, Prussia," Denmark cautioned. "Not about that." They followed Romano down a hallway.

…

"Son of a, ah, well, that's a really big stadium!" Romano gaped.

"Of course it is, this place is great."

Prussia snorted. "It's not that great. The Republikpalast was better."

"But the Republikpalast is gone _,"_ Den pointed out, laughing. "So great, they tore it down. Besides, it didn't have a stadium."

"Shut up, you Nordic — idiot." The albino beamed after successfully navigating that one.

"Cheh, you're both idiots. Are we going to watch this football game or move on?"

"Let's hang out for a while. Come on, Den." The three of them found reasonable seats and parked it, proceeding to ignore the game entirely.

"You guys are doing really well! I'm so proud of you." Denmark wrapped an arm around each of their shoulders and hugged. "I didn't think we'd make it this long."

"You really think I'm that bad?"

"Romano, all you ever do is swear! Of course we thought you'd have blown it by now."

"You're lucky Den's sitting in between us, albino potato, or I'd punch you in the nose."

"Yeah, and then I'd _still_ win! Kesesese~!" he cackled.

Romano put his head in his hands. "You may be right, Denmark. If he doesn't shut up, I'm either going to pop him one, or lose control over my mouth."

"Hang in there." Den put his strong hand on Romano's shoulder. "You can do it. Just save it up for later!"

"Why do you even care about this? I mean, you're no prude, and you like to fight, so, what's the problem?"

"Just an intellectual exercise. See if it can be done, that's all."

"Intellectual, cheh, might as well leave Prussia out of it, then."

"Da—argh!" Prussia punched the bench. "Stop taunting me!"

"Well, then you can't taunt me, ba—albino potato." An evil glint then appeared in the Italian's eyes, and Prussia leaned forward to see what was going on. "All right," Romano continued, very slowly, "I won't taunt you, Prussia, my dear friend." He looked at the albino and raised an eyebrow.

Prussia grinned. "And I won't goad you, dearest Romano." They reached out and shook hands solemnly in front of Denmark, who now looked decidedly worried. This kind of harmony between these two could only mean trouble.

…

"So, Denmark," Romano asked artificially, as they left the stadium, "will you give me a piggyback ride? I'm getting tired." Before Den could answer, Romano jumped up on his back, and the Dane had to comply or else let him fall. From his new perch, the brunet grinned down at Prussia, who pinched Denmark's cheek.

"You're such a good friend, Den. You guys look so fu—so cute together that way."

"Argh, this is stupid. Why am I carrying you, Romano?"

"I'm tired, that's all. And you're so strong and powerful _._ " He poked Denmark in the shoulder; Prussia started laughing. "Take me for more coffee." Romano pointed down a hallway and they moved off.

"Hey, Romano. Tell me if you don't think Den uses too much hair gel."

"What? Don't play with my hair!"

But of course Romano checked it. "Nah, seems okay, seems like he just has really thick hair." He pulled on it a little bit while being carried down the hallway.

"Hey, pulling my hair is like fighting, you know!"

"No. I was just teasing, but I'll stop."

"What I think we need is not actually coffee," Prussia argued, "but ice cream."

"Ice cream!" The Dane's eyes lit up. "Oh, yes, my friend, ice cream."

"Coffee!" Romano pleaded, but in vain. They turned towards the ice cream stalls. "Denmark! I want my fu—my coffee!"

"Whyn'cha get coffee ice cream? It's good! I had some at Den's house last time. Coffee ice cream with chocolate cookies mashed into it…awesome, absolutely awesome."

"That sounds really gross…but, yeah, I can at least try it. Thanks, Prussia, you're a real sweetheart." The albino grinned up at Romano, who leaned down to ruffle the white hair, and Denmark started to get worried again.

When they reached the ice cream stand, Romano slid down off his friend. Prussia got his ice cream and stood next to Denmark. "Hey, Den, want to _share my_ ice cream _?_ " The albino licked his ice cream, then his lips, extending the cone to his boyfriend.

"Not in public!" the Viking hissed. In response, Prussia mashed the ice cream into his lips and cackled.

"Da—!" Now Denmark understood. They planned to gang up on him and make him cave in, first. "Oh, no you don't," he laughed. "You're not going to get away with _that._ "

"Bet we do. I make a further bet that you are going to lose, my awesome friend."

"I refuse to take such a stupid bet," Den said haughtily, and Prussia mashed his ice cream into his face again, cackling.

"Prussia, you son of a— _argh_! This is going to get really old, really fast."

"It's easy enough to stop it, just swear or hit me…uh, just swear or hit Romano, and then we can be done."

"No."

Romano sighed. "Just – let's move on, all right? The ice cream is great, now let's go look at something else."

"There's an art exhibition down this way," Prussia pointed out.

So they went to look at the art exhibition.

…

Later, after a fairly tense hour in the arcade, they relaxed outside in the fresh spring air. "This day hasn't been half bad," was Romano's opinion.

"Yeah! Even the fake swearing is pretty funny."

"It had better continue to be pretty funny, or dinner's on you, potato brain."

"You realize we're going to have to eat Danish food, yes?" Denmark was pleased at this.

"Well, I did say I wanted to try it. I'm game, at least the first time."

"Hey, that's so not awesome. You hate German food."

"No, I hate _Germans._ " Romano calmly stuck his tongue out at Prussia.

"Aw, no you don't. You know you love me."

"You always say that, and you have no evidence at all to back it up. Where do you get this stupid idea?"

"Because I'm awesome! Everybody loves me! Kesesese!"

"Denmark, can you please deal with him? I can't take this right now." Romano lay back on the grass and closed his eyes.

"Too bad the weather isn't hotter," Denmark idly offered, smirking down at Romano.

"Why?" Prussia was getting a little suspicious, until he saw that Romano's shirt had come untucked. "Aha."

"Put a sock in it, blondie," the Italian growled without opening his eyes.

"I don't have a spare sock, but I could put my hat in it, if you want!" Den grabbed Romano's belt buckle and they started struggling.

"Chigi! Doesn't this count as fighting? Get off me, stop!"

Denmark let go. "It does count as fighting," said Prussia decisively. "I vote that Den loses. End of game."

"No vote. Here, you sit in the middle; you and Romano are so cozy together today." Denmark and Prussia switched seats.

"So, what kind of underwear are you wearing, Romano?" Prussia leaned over and tickled his friend's nose with a blade of grass.

"Purple spandex bikinis with little gold butterflies" was the irate answer. "Leave me alone! If you make me punch you, it's your fault, and you're buying dinner."

"No, if you punch him, it's your own fault." Safe from his seat on the other side of Prussia, Denmark offered this sage wisdom.

Romano growled, "Just keep your hands off me, Prussia." Then he turned to look at the albino and jerked his head towards Den. "Get to work. Show me some of your awesome strategic techniques."

Prussia lost himself in thought for a few minutes. "Does flinging acorns at him count as me fighting?"

"Yes!" the other two snapped.

"Schei—oh, _argh_ ," he growled, drumming his heels into the ground, "I can't do anything strategic without fighting!"

"Figures," Romano scoffed, while Den merely looked relieved.

…

Half an hour later they'd finally stopped bickering and settled down to relax. "Hey, gits, what are you doing out here? Siesta?" England strode up to them, raking his hands through his hair.

"Hey, you're early! How was the meeting? Workshop, whatever?"

England sat between Romano and Prussia. "Not good, damn it. That wanker America is such a bloody bastard sometimes." All three of the others started laughing. "What? What the hell did I say?"

This just sent the others into further hysterics. Since England didn't want to hurt Romano, he backhanded Prussia in the chest. "Will you shut it?" They just kept howling; he rolled his eyes and put his head in his hands.

Romano grabbed him and pulled him down onto the ground for a hug. "You're absolutely perfect, bastard."

Denmark punched Prussia in the arm, and Prussia swore loudly. "What a fucking awesome day."

…

Denmark paid for the dinner.

* * *

 _I have no idea if these particular activities are possible at the Messecenter. I just wanted a venue with a lot of different activities._


	44. Boozers

**Boozers.**

Here it was, Saturday night…and where was Romano? In _Berlin_. But…he did have a good reason. He was finally going drinking with Prussia and Denmark.

"Hey!" Prussia leaped into view and spun him around in a hug. The albino wore all white, which made him look a little spooky. Romano, all in black, made an interesting contrast.

"Dammit, no hugs. Get off me." Romano struggled to get free. "Hey, Denmark, help! The dangerous fucking bastard won't put me down!"

Prussia finally stopped spinning him and let go with a grin. "Den's not here yet, unless he's inside. Let's go see."

The intimate corner bar, an old one in the city center, was still quiet this early in the evening; not much smoke, not much noise. They found an empty booth in the back (no Den in sight) and settled in opposite each other. Since this was their first group drinking outing, Romano had made them choose a bar, not a dance club, because he didn't want the other two abandoning him to go dance. Prussia ordered a couple of beers and they talked of this and that, surprisingly managing not to argue about anything, and then Denmark finally arrived, about half an hour late. He too was dressed all in black.

"Hey, cutie," Prussia laughed. He patted the bench next to him.

"No, uh-uh." Romano shook his head. "Not together. I don't want to have to sit here and watch you two with all the lovey shit while I'm here by myself."

"Why are you here by yourself? Where's England?"

"At home, I guess, I don't know."

"Why didn't you ask him to join us?"

"Because this was a day for the three of us to go drinking together, albino potato!" Romano slammed a fist on the table. "Dammit, if I knew I could have invited him, I would have."

"Well, call him up! It's not too late, we're just getting started."

"Nah, too late; he's probably got plans now."

"Ooh," Prussia smiled. "I wonder who with?"

"Don't end a sentence with a preposition!"

Both Romano and Prussia stared at Denmark in amazement.

"What? I'm just trying to help!"

Then his friends burst into laughter. "Whatever, bastard. Let's get some real drinks. Beer is so – so German _."_

Prussia scowled at him. "Well, what do you expect? I am German. And this bar is in Germany _._ "

"Cheh. Let me buy a round. Bloody Marys."

"Bloody Marys are such girly drinks!"

"I'm going to leave if you can't shut up, albino potato." Romano pushed away the rest of his beer; Prussia took it and downed it quickly. "But…yeah, how about…vodka martinis?"

"Yeah, like James Bond! Damn, you _should_ have invited Iggy."

Denmark put a restraining hand on Romano's shoulder. "Just buy the drinks."

"You get them. It's too hard for me to climb out of the booth over you," he grumbled. "Here." The brunet handed Den some money and he moved off to the bar.

Prussia pouted artificially. "Sorry, Romano."

"Yeah, right." The two fighting bastards sat in silence. Romano scowled at the walls, at the few other patrons, anywhere but at Prussia, who just sat staring at him with his habitual smirk.

"What's taking him so long?" the albino eventually wondered, turning to look. "The bar isn't even that full."

Den finally returned with three vodka martinis. "I had an idea while I was up there. How about this? First Romano buys a round, his choice of drinks, then Prussia, then me, keep going like that? You have to agree to drink whatever the buyer wants."

"Even if it's girly _?_ " Romano sneered.

"Yes."

"Whatever, bastard. I'll drink whatever's on offer."

"Awesome! I'm buying beer every time, then."

"Why doesn't this surprise me," sighed Romano. "But, fine. I'll try to deal with it."

They raised their drinks. And then they drank the drinks. "When's the last time you went out drinking?" the half-nation then asked them.

"Last week, with West."

"Last week, with Norge."

"Dammit. Clearly I don't go out drinking enough." Romano chugged the rest of his martini and slammed the glass down on the table.

"Don't drink too fast, then. You'll pass out and miss all the fun!"

"Shut up," elbowing Denmark in the ribs. "I can handle my liquor, bastards."

"Kesesese, we'll see about that! Want to make a bet? Stay here until closing time; first one to pass out has to buy dinner next time." Prussia finished his drink.

"Chigi! Are you fucking nuts? I'm not going to drink enough to pass out _._ " Romano finished his drink.

"Then you'll win the bet, what's the problem?" This suggestion from Denmark seemed to make perfect sense, so Romano agreed to the bet.

"But, you know, drinking until we pass out is what we do," Prussia pointed out. "Do you take the bet, Den?"

"Sure. Anyway, we don't pass out every time _._ " He laughed.

"Name once."

Denmark sat and thought. Since they'd all finished their drinks by now, Prussia went to the bar for the three beers.

When he came back, Den was still thinking; Romano kept grinning at him. "I can't remember. We always pass out."

"See! Man up, and drink that beer, Romano."

Romano drank his beer very slowly. "I can't decide what's worse, drinking this stuff slowly, so I only have to take little sips, but it makes it last too long, or drinking it all down very fast, which gets it over with quicker, but tastes worse."

"Chug it and find out," Den suggested, so he did.

"Ugh. Equally bad both ways!"

…

"Your go, Den. What are we drinking?"

"Let's have aquavit."

"They're not going to have that at this dump."

"This place isn't a dump, Romano! It's a nice little place. West and I come here a lot."

"Oh, no. Does that mean he's going to show up? With my idiot brother? _Chigi_!" He whacked the table.

"Doubt it. West said they were going to some fancy date thing in Paris tonight. Romantic dancing and shit."

"Good, that's good. I can't deal with Veneziano when I'm drinking. It's bad enough when I'm sober. Go get some drinks, Denmark."

"Bring back some pretzels!"

Denmark returned with a bowl of pretzels and three Bloody Marys.

"Den! What a sweetheart." Romano grinned. He immediately began sipping the delicious tomato drink. "I love tomatoes," he said happily, leaning back against the wall.

"Yeah, we know, you idiot." The Viking ruffled his hair. "Just drink."

"This tastes a little different, but really good, bastard, what's in it?"

"This is Danish style: with tomato juice and aquavit. They did have it here."

Prussia drank the drink. "Eh, not as girly as I'd thought. Hey, Den, thanks. Give me a kiss."

Den scowled at him. "Give it a fucking rest, you kissaholic. Not yet."

"Aww…damn."

"What do you mean, 'yet,' bastard?" Romano asked him. "Going to start making out, later? Don't."

"Ah, ah, nothing, just – waiting for – for you to pass out."

"I'm not going to pass out, dammit! It's only ten-fifteen!" He began sipping more slowly, though, just to be on the safe side...and to savor the tomatoey delight for a little while longer. "Yum." He licked his lips and giggled a little.

"What's the next drink?" Prussia asked.

"Something else with tomatoes, please, bastards." The brunet gave Denmark a silly grin.

"Calm down, will you both? I'm still finishing this."

They spent a few moments in silent contemplation of their drinks. Romano began humming along with the music that played on the speakers, looking around the dimly-lit bar, smiling at the world in general.

"Aw, Romano's a goofy drunk, did you notice? How fucking cute. How fucking unexpected _._ "

"Shut up," Romano countered, trying to scowl, and failing. "You're such a potato head. Anyway, I have a question for you. What happens to you when you pass out?"

"What? Well, it's like falling asleep, I guess."

"Don't be an idiot. I mean, what happens when they want to close the bar, and you guys are passed out? How do they get you out? Do they just throw you out into an alley or what?"

"They used to use my cell phone and call West. By now they have him on speed dial."

"What do you mean, they used to?"

"Uh…I don't have a cell anymore. West took it away from me because I was spending too much time shopping online."

Denmark snorted his drink. "Now that's funny. What were you buying?"

"No! I don't even want to know, bastard. Don't say another fucking word."

Prussia just laughed. "Your turn to buy, Romano. What are we drinking?"

"Um…let me out of the booth. I need the bathroom; I'll think about it and buy them when I get back." He wandered off. Prussia suddenly got a funny look in his eye, leaped up, and ran after him.

…

In a few minutes, he came storming back, face a bright red, and he was definitely not a goofy drunk any more. Denmark had moved to Prussia's side of the booth, and Prussia scurried after Romano, a pleading hand extended, cackling. "Come on, don't be like that. It was a good opportunity!"

Den repressed a giggle at this. He'd bought another round of vodka martinis while they were gone; his was already half-gone.

Romano moved angrily to sit down on his side of the booth and was grabbed and pulled down by a rough pair of hands.

"What the fuck?" He looked up to find he was on England's lap. "Wah!" he yelled with a great big smile, eyes wide and all anger forgotten, and threw his arms around England's neck, snuggling up to him with a happy little murmur.

Over his shoulder, the island nation dropped his jaw, widened his eyes, in disbelief. Denmark just shrugged, grinning, and finished his drink.

"Hey, man," Prussia said, high-fiving him, "how did you find us?"

"Magic," England scoffed.

Romano drew back from his embrace to look in his eyes. "Wow."

"Magic cell phone, wanker. Denmark called me." He hugged Romano briefly.

"Denmark, you are one fucking awesome bastard."

"Hell, yeah," Prussia agreed.

"Hell, yeah," Denmark agreed.

"Maybe you gits should have called yourselves the Fucking Awesome Bastards."

"Nah. Too obvious." Denmark grabbed the rest of Prussia's drink and finished it.

"Hey, why are you drinking my drink? Damn it, Den, that's not awesome."

England shifted on the seat. "You're going to have to get off my lap, Romano. Your arse is too bony." Romano pouted, and the others laughed at him, but he did move off England's lap. "How long have you been here, anyway? Or is Romano just a lightweight? I've never been drinking with him, yet."

Romano pinched his arm while Prussia explained the events of the night so far, including about the bet. "So are you going to join us in the bet, Iggy? It's a pretty awesome bet, if I do have to say so myself."

"Ordinarily I'd say yes, but you're several drinks ahead of me; it would be an easy win for me. So I won't."

"That's fair enough. Why don't you buy the next round, though?"

England bought rum and coke for everyone.

…

"Why do you need to know about Romano's bloody underwear, anyway?"

"It's the principle of the thing!" Prussia argued. "He keeps not letting us find out."

"Principle, my ass," Romano giggled. "You just can't keep your hands off me, bastard!" He leaned up against England and sighed happily when the blond put a resigned arm around his shoulders. "I love being friends with you guys."

"I really, _really_ wish we had a video camera here," Denmark grumbled. "Nobody will ever believe this."

"Plus it would be awesome blackmail, kesesese!"

"Shut up, potato brain. Go buy us some drinks." Romano put his chin down on the table and gave Prussia, opposite him, a very good imitation of a puppy dog.

"You're such a fucking cute drunk, Romano. You should do this more often."

"Bastard."

Denmark finally exploded, "Fuck it, Prussia, how come you keep talking about how cute Romano is? Why the hell aren't you talking about how cute I am?" He downed the rest of his drink and punched Prussia in the arm.

"Ow! Damn it!" Prussia punched him back.

Romano looked at Den in astonishment. "The dangerous fucking bastard was right! You _do_ swear and fight more when you've been drinking." He tried to poke him but missed. "You're a fighting boozer! Ha ha. I really never would have believed him if I hadn't seen it myself."

Prussia laughed at Den and reached up to ruffle the spiky hair. "Yeah, but, you're a way cuter drunk, Romano…come on, kiss the awesome me."

" _Chigi_! Your boyfriend's sitting right here, you stupid kissaholic!" Romano dissolved into giggles again. "And so is mine!"

"I don't want to kiss Den; he punched me!"

"Bollocks. Maybe I _should_ get plastered," England groaned to himself, leaning against the wall.

Denmark rolled his eyes, nodding in agreement. "Go get us some beers, Prussia." As the albino moved off, he turned to Romano. "Stop teasing him, do you hear me?"

"Yeah, that's right, Den, it's all my fault," Romano scoffed. "I'm corrupting the albino potato _._ " He burst into raucous laughter at this idea and turned to England. "Hey, can I corrupt you?" He leaned in, as if for a kiss.

"You already corrupted me," England smirked, without giving him a kiss.

Prussia returned with the beers. "Drink up! This stuff is the best! Pilsner Urquell!"

"That's not even German," Denmark pointed out. "I can't believe you'd ever say it was the best."

"The brewery used to be in German territory. Drink it."

…

"What are we drinking next?" They'd just finished a round of vodka tonics.

"It's the dangerous fucking bastard's turn. What are we drinking, Romano?"

Romano was leaning against England with his eyes closed.

"Did he pass out? Did he lose the bet? Kesesese, that's awesome! It's only 11:30! _"_

"I'm not gonna lose this bet to you, albino potato. I didn't lose the last bet and I'm not going to lose this one." He opened his eyes. "Let's have…uh, no, those are too girly…hmm…well, we could do those Danish Bloody Marys again?"

"No! Pick something new!"

Romano turned to England. "What would you like to drink? You can pick. I'll buy." He reached under the table and squeezed his friend's hand.

"Hmm. Black Russians?"

"Yeah! I love those!" Prussia yelled. "Let's do that!" Romano handed him some money and he pelted off to the bar.

"We should have gone to a dance club. I'm getting antsy, just sitting around this fucking place, drinking." Denmark was looking kind of irritable. "And Prussia's getting too loud and obnoxious."

Romano squeezed England's hand again and leaned up against him. "A dance club would be fun. I wanna dance with you, angel."

England's blush passed straight through red into purple. "Shut it, wanker! Bollocks," he hissed. Too late, though; Den had started howling so much that he nearly fell out of the booth. Romano seemed oblivious to his laughter, and moved to sit quietly with his chin propped on his friend's shoulder, twirling a finger idly through the messy blond hair, humming quietly. England simply folded his arms and scowled at Denmark.

"What? What'd I miss?" Prussia came back with the drinks and had to put the tray down so that he could shift his hysterical boyfriend into a sitting position. "Damn, how come I always miss the awesome stuff? What the hell happened?"

Romano calmly turned to him and said, "We're thinking of going to a dance club. What do you think?"

Denmark wiped his eyes and took a fresh drink from the tray. "Shit, Romano, you're so damn funny when you're drunk. We need to do this more often."

"I really _don't_ want to go to a dance club," England said haughtily, which just sent Den into laughter again.

"You need another drink, Iggy. Here." Prussia handed him a Black Russian. "I don't want to go dancing either. Besides, if we leave here, the bet's off, and I intend to win."

Romano pouted.

"Don't pout _;_ it makes you look like a little kid _._ Come here." England wrapped an arm around Romano and shared his drink with him.

"Awww! Den, check it out, it's like a mommy bird feeding her baby bird!"

"Shut up," England and Romano said at the same time, and then started laughing together.

…

"You know, I'm surprised Den hasn't picked a fight with anybody yet." This round, Scotch and soda.

"Like it's some kind of _rule_ that I have to get in a fight? Damn you, Prussia."

"Just don't get in a fight with me, bastard."

"Why would I fight with you?"

"'Cause we're the Fighting Fucking Boozers, right? Kesesese!"

England rested his head against the wall. "What about that time at the world meeting in Moscow? You were a monster. All that vodka! You even attacked Russia."

"Yeah, that was fun," Den put his chin in his hands and let himself wallow in memories for a minute with a big vague grin on his face. "Or remember that time Swissy hosted a meeting…we drank all that fucking white wine…"

"Yeah! Damn, that was really awesome! When you got up on the table—"

"And your bloody axe! What a git. We had to pay for a new chandelier."

"Classic!" Prussia agreed, cackling.

Romano's goofy smile turned to a pout. "Why do I miss all this good stuff, dammit?"

"Because you never come to the meetings, idiot." England ruffled his hair. "I think the best one was that time you brought the Chihuahua to Japan's place, Den."

"Ha ha ha, yes! When it went under Poland's dress – priceless!" The three of them started whooping crazily.

"Dammit," Romano grumbled. "Maybe I should start coming to the meetings."

"Maybe you should," England agreed, wiping his eyes and smiling fondly at him. "Think of all the fun we could have."

Romano didn't look at him; didn't say a word.

…

Denmark weaved his way to the bar and picked up three more drinks.

"What are these, bastard?" Romano was once again snuggled up to England, but surprisingly didn't look like he was ready to pass out yet. All the others had assumed he'd be the one to lose the bet first.

"It's Seven and Seven. Drink up. We have less than an hour to closing time."

Prussia grabbed a glass. "Really? Damn, what if we all win?"

Den laughed. "Romano will pass out, just watch."

"Don't pass out!" England warned. "I really don't want to have to haul your drunken carcass home tonight."

"Cheh, don't worry, I've got it under control, you adorable bastard." He leaned in to kiss England's ear and then drew back abruptly. "Whoops. Sorry, Den."

Everyone looked at him in amazement.

"What are you staring at, dammit?" He sipped his drink to cover his confusion.

Prussia was the first to speak. "What did you mean, 'Sorry, Den'? What does he have to do with it?"

"Well – he – he wouldn't let you kiss him, remember? He said you had to wait until I passed out. So I guess I have to wait until you idiots pass out, right?"

Denmark laughed. "Shit, like that's going to happen. You're _so_ going down, Romano."

"Fucking bastard. Watch me."

"Kesesese!" Prussia drank his drink.

…

"How many bloody drinks have you had, anyway?" Everyone now had gin and tonics.

There was a short silence as the Skirmish Brothers each tried to tally up their drinks.

"Seven," Denmark said decisively.

"Nine!" Prussia argued.

"Cheh, you're both wrong, it was ten."

"Ten drinks," England scoffed. "Weak wankers." He knocked back his drink.

Romano scowled at him and then turned to his friends. "Okay, let's count. The potato and I had beers before you got here, Den."

"Don't count those. Start with the vodka martini."

"Right."

"Some kind of gross beer that I chugged."

"Romano!"

Romano ignored him. "Bloody Mary…rum and coke…Pilsner whatever beer…" His voice faded away as he lost his train of thought and leaned against England, closing his eyes.

"Awesome! Romano loses the bet." Prussia picked up Romano's gin and tonic. "You want this, Iggy?"

"No, go for it," the island nation sighed, shifting Romano a little. Prussia drank the rest of Romano's drink.

But – "I didn't lose the bet, you idiot, I'm just trying to think of what happened after your stupid German-not-German beer."

"Black Russians," England put in.

"No, I bought that second round of vodka martinis when England got here. Then the Black Russians."

"Oh, yeah. Thanks." Romano opened his eyes and gave Denmark a sweet smile. England ruffled his dark hair affectionately, and Romano snuggled closer, playing with his fingers under the table. "Then the Seven and Sevens. So it was eight, unless you count the beers Prussia and I started with."

Den snorted at him. "No, you forgot the fucking gin and tonics. How could you forget that? They're right on the table!"

"Shut up. You forgot the vodka tonics."

England began to laugh. "All of you forgot the Scotch and soda. And that makes eleven drinks, so you were all wrong. Huh. I'm surprised none of you wankers has passed out yet. It's almost one o'clock."

"Damn, Prussia, you were right, we're all going to win." There was no response. "Prussia?" To the sheer amazement of everyone at the table, Prussia lay with his head down on the table, snoring deeply.

"Awesome!" Romano yelled, jumping up. "He lost the damn bet!" He turned to England. "Take a picture, please; I really need evidence of this. Please? You know he won't believe us if we just tell him." He gave his friends another puppy-dog look.

"Yes, sure, let me out of the booth." England snapped a picture with his cell phone; Denmark and Romano beaming eagerly into the lens, Prussia on the table.

"You going to be all right to get him home, Denmark?"

"Hell, yeah." They left the bar a few minutes before closing time, Prussia draped over Denmark's strong shoulder. He manhandled the albino into a cab.

"Hey, Den, thanks for calling me."

"Yeah. Tell the potato we said good night?"

"Sure." Denmark gave them both a sweet smile and climbed into the cab next to Prussia; they drove off.

"Well, now, you drunken demon, what are we going to do now?" England asked with a silly grin. "Dancing?"

"I don't even know why I said that." Romano shook his head. "Let's go someplace more civilized. Hanging out in potato-land is kind of creepy."

So they hailed a cab and went to Paris for a very early breakfast.


	45. Snoozers

**Snoozers.**

Romano was in the middle of cleaning the kitchen when his doorbell rang. "Dammit." He threw the damp rag into the sink and stalked to the door. If it was England, he was going to get an _earful…_ Romano had told him this weekend was off-limits. Housework needed to be done, and he'd been putting it off in order to run around socializing recently. Socializing too much. The kitchen was the most important room in his house, and he'd saved it for last, but he really wanted to make sure it was sparkling clean.

"Surprise!" Nope, not England, but Prussia and Denmark, in matching red swim trunks and t-shirts.

"Dammit, what are you bastards doing here? And why are you dressed like fucking twins? You look ridiculous."

"Shut up. It's a beautiful Saturday, and we want to go to the beach, and we want you to go to the beach with us, because you have awesome beaches."

"We brought a picnic," Denmark added cheerfully, as an enticement.

"You can even call Iggy if you like! There's plenty of food."

"Uh, come in…come into the kitchen so I can finish cleaning and think about it." They walked into the near-spotless kitchen and the guests sat at the big granite-topped island while Romano finished mopping up the countertops. His gaze kept drifting to the window, to the beautiful warm summer day…perfect beach weather…"Yeah, all right, I'll go. Give me about ten minutes?"

"Sure. Want me to call England for you?" Den pulled out his phone.

Romano thought about this. It was probably not a wise idea. He'd already told his friend "no socializing" and now to call him up and say "I'm going socializing with Prussia and Denmark"? Hmm, he _knew_ it wasn't a wise idea, although it would be fun to play at the beach with him… "No, don't," he finally decided. "We weren't planning to get together today anyway, so I don't want to interrupt whatever plans he might have."

"Suit yourself. Are you done cleaning yet?"

"Done enough, anyway. Let me run upstairs and change and get my stuff."

While he was gone, Denmark sent a text to England anyway. Prussia kept grabbing the phone to check for a response, periodically letting out a little laugh under his breath, but by the time Romano returned with a small bag and wearing his black swim trunks, there was still no answer, so they left for the beach.

"What made you bastards think of this, anyway?" He sat in the back seat.

"Nice day in Denmark, but too cold."

"Nice day in Germany, but all the beaches are up near Denmark! You really do have great beaches, Romano. I'm so glad we're friends with you."

"Cheh, just so you can come to my beaches? That's kind of dumb. You can go to any beach you want! There's no law against it."

"Yes, but it's so much nicer to hang around with friends, not just going to some anonymous beach, right, Prussia?"

"Right! Or, for example, going to a dodgy beach…"

"What the hell does that mean, dammit?"

Den laughed, "Ah ha ha ha, a nude beach?"

"Yep, that's just what I meant. You're awesome, Den, but your nude beaches…ah, sometimes it just isn't what I want to do."

A moment while they each privately considered the desirability (or not) of nude beaches.

"Well, anyway, since we had nothing to do we thought it would be a good day for it. You sure you're all right with this?" Prussia swiped Denmark's phone again and checked it surreptitiously, but still no response. He sent another text.

"Yes! Why would I be in the car with you idiots if I wasn't all right with it? You always ask me these stupidly obvious kinds of questions, dammit."

Denmark finally pulled up to the little beach parking lot and they got out with all their gear. Prussia had brought an umbrella to protect his delicate albino skin. Denmark had the picnic basket. Each of them had a little bag with towels and other items. And Romano had brought a chilled bottle of champagne in a cooler bag.

By now – about noon – it was really quite crowded, but they did manage to find a good spot and spread out their gear. "I do love coming to the beach. Thanks for coming to get me, bastards."

"No problem! Hey, Prussia, put some sunscreen on my back for me, all right?"

"Eh, you have to do me first, I'm more delicate," Prussia laughed. So he lay down facing the water while Denmark lazily rubbed the cream into the skin of his strong back.

Romano pulled a little bottle of suntan oil out of his bag. "Cheh, sun cream," he scoffed, rubbing the oil into his skin. " _Delicate_." Snort.

"You're pretty lucky to have such tan skin," Denmark agreed. "For me and Prussia sun can be pretty painful." Prussia had put on sunglasses to protect his eyes and sat up to begin smearing sunscreen on his Nordic friend's broad back.

"You _are_ a pretty good-looking guy, Romano." This in a (surprisingly) rather normal conversational tone from Prussia. "I can see why Iggy likes you so much; that tan skin is very exotic."

"Chigi! Will you _shut up!"_ There was a short pause while Den and Prussia watched Romano blush, and then he went on, "But, yeah," and lay back in the sun with his arm over his eyes, smirking.

For a little while the friends simply relaxed together, talking of this and that, while the sunscreen soaked in. "Hey, we haven't made a bet yet," Den realized.

"We don't always have to have a bet, you know, bastard."

"Yeah, but we might as well! What should we bet on?"

They all considered this for a moment. "Do you guys ever fall asleep at the beach?" Prussia finally asked.

"I try not to, because I might get sunburned. But sometimes I do anyway."

"Cheh, I fall asleep at the beach all the time. It's warm and relaxing. No bets about sleeping! I won't take a bet like that."

"Well, we can't bet about sunburn, since Romano doesn't burn."

"Ah, hell, there's nothing to bet on, then, dammit. Forget it. We can bet on something next time."

Reluctantly the two more northern friends agreed. Prussia started idly heaping sand into piles, but then couldn't stand it anymore. "I'm going in. Anybody coming with me?"

"Go for it, Den," Romano yawned. "I'll stick around." He shifted position, lying face down, chin in hands, so he could watch his friends play in the water.

"Damn, you're going to sleep already?"

"No! I just – just –"

His friends laughed. "Good thing we didn't make that bet. All right, see you in a little bit."

When they reached the water, Prussia immediately began splashing Denmark. "I'm going to get you wet so all that hair gel will stick together!"

"I already told you, I don't use hair gel. This is just the way my hair is!" Denmark splashed back. "When's the last time you were at a beach, anyway?" he wondered.

"Last summer, I guess, up in Kiel," Prussia considered, splashing some more. "Can't really remember. I know there was a day last summer I was trying to persuade West to take me, but he was too busy getting ready for some conference."

"Yeah, you're kind of lucky that you don't have to mess with that stuff." Denmark lay back and floated on his back for a while.

Prussia stood in the water, making swirls with his hands, staring around and occasionally diving or splashing. Every once in a while he waved at Romano, who idly waved back. Little kids looked at Prussia and edged away. This made him snicker; Denmark ignored him, serenely floating.

After a few more minutes of play, he looked down at his arms. "Hey, I'm going back under the umbrella; I think I need more sunscreen."

"Already? Want me to come put it on you?"

"Nah, that's all right, I'll get Romano to do it. Have fun out here!"

"Let him come out when he's done putting the sunscreen on." Denmark lay back in the water again and Prussia headed towards the umbrella.

"You really can't take it, can you, albino potato?"

"Hey, don't blame me. I didn't ask to be born this way." Prussia chuckled and sat under the umbrella. "I have to do more sunscreen – will you do my back when I'm ready?"

"Sure."

Prussia began applying the thick cream to his arms and torso. A few minutes later, a couple of little kids ran by, kicking up sand onto both of the friends.

 _"Merda!"_ Romano yelled, brushing sand out of his face and hair, but the kids were long gone by then.

"Oh, shit. Now there's sand sticking to my sunscreen. I hate that."

"It ought to rinse off in the water, though, right?" He sat up and took the bottle from Prussia. "Lie down, bastard; I'll put some on your back." He was an experienced masseur, and got a little carried away daydreaming and rubbing the cream into his friend's pale, muscular back.

Prussia let out a little groan and cradled his head in his arms. "Damn, that feels awesome, Romano. Are you giving me a backrub?"

"Chigi!" He stopped. "Sorry."

"Hey, don't be sorry, it felt really relaxing! You can keep going if you want. _I_ might fall asleep, though."

"Well, if you really want…?" At least if he fell asleep he'd shut up.

"Yes, please!"

So Romano continued massaging Prussia's back, until all the sunscreen had been absorbed. "Are you asleep?" he asked quietly, hopefully.

"Nope! Just lying here enjoying the backrub. Thanks, that was great." He sighed in contentment.

Dammit. "Well, you're all sunscreened, now, so, you should be all right. Why don't you get that spray kind? It would be a lot easier to put on."

"Yeah, but I was planning to make Den rub it on me all day!"

Romano shook his head in dismay. "You're such a pig sometimes. Poor Den. I really don't know how he puts up with you. Or why."

"Aw, come on, you love me, and you know it."

"Don't start that again!" Romano threw the sunscreen bottle at him and lay down again.

"Ow. Why don't you go in the water? Or are you just a beach bunny? Just want to lie around in the sun all day?"

"No, I like the water. I think I will go in – at least it will get me away from you!" Romano stalked off towards the water and joined Denmark.

"He's driving me nuts," he said shortly, by way of explanation.

"There's a surprise." Denmark laughed at him. "I don't know why you let him get to you."

Romano splashed him, and this escalated almost immediately into a splash fight. Denmark's height gave him a disadvantage on the attack; Romano was closer to the water, and able to splash more fiercely and effectively. "Chigi!" he yelled, laughing. "You're going down!"

But Denmark's height also gave him the advantage on defense; it was harder for Romano to splash the water up that high. "Ha ha!" he called out, dodging. "You little pipsqueak! You'll never win!" They splashed and laughed, yelling, for several more minutes, until Romano ended up with a mouthful of water and started coughing.

"Dammit, that was fun," he eventually wheezed, and Denmark came over to hug him in the water. They looked back towards the umbrella to see that Prussia had apparently fallen asleep.

"Good thing we didn't make that bet! He'd be really pissed, losing two bets in a row. Come on, let's go hang out with him, and have our lunch."

"Hey, let's build a sand castle," Prussia suggested when they woke him up. He and Romano got started building one while Denmark unpacked the lunch. Unfortunately, due to their diverse architectural heritage, it looked a bit bizarre, half Sanssouci and half Castel Sant'Angelo. Every time Prussia tried to add the dome to his side, it collapsed.

"Bastard, I had no idea you were a sand-castle kind of guy." Romano tried to add a bridge between the two wings, but it kept falling down. He decided to make a solid bridge and then adapt it.

"Hey, Germany has a great legacy of architecture! Maybe not as famous as yours, but we did have a lot of cool stuff. Ask West for a tour sometime." Prussia tried to put the dome on again. It collapsed.

"Cheh, like that's going to happen. He makes me crazy. I'm not about to ask him for any German information. If I ever feel like I need to know about Germany" (clearly he did not think this would ever happen), "you can tell me about it, all right, albino potato?" He delicately scooped sand out to make the bridge arches.

"Sure," Prussia replied cheerfully. "What d'you want to know?"

"Nothing! I just meant, _if_ I ever wanted to know!" Romano waved his arm and knocked the bridge down in his agitation.

"Hey! Leave the castle alone!"

Denmark had finished laying out the food. "Come on; let's eat before this stuff spoils. Don't know how I always end up doing all the work when you guys are around."

"That's so ridiculously unfair, you Nordic idiot," Prussia scoffed. "When's the last time you had to do _any_ work when we were around? Besides driving."

Denmark considered this; the other two abandoned the castle, dusting their hands off, and came to eat. "All right, forget I said anything," he eventually replied.

Romano opened the champagne. "What the fuck is this? Potato bastard food? Dammit, Den, how could you do this to me?"

"What did you expect? That we'd stop off and buy pasta on the way? We didn't even know if you'd be coming with us! At least I remembered some stuff with tomatoes."

"Yeah, all right, thanks, bastard. I appreciate it." He poured the champagne into plastic cups and the three of them sat leisurely eating and drinking a while. Romano tried to focus on the tomato dishes and Danish treats while avoiding the wurst and potatoes. There were limits, after all.

"So when do you guys have another world meeting?" Prussia asked. "And where is it?"

"I have no idea. I don't go to them, remember? Veneziano takes care of all that." He did get a dreamy little look on his face, though. Maybe he _would_ start going…

"Next one's in Switzerland," Den said. "About six weeks from now?"

"Been a while since we've been to Swissy's place. Wonder what it's like in the summer," Prussia asked, while looking off towards the water nonchalantly.

Both his friends burst into laughter at this exceedingly transparent ruse. "Want to go to the conference with me?" Denmark asked.

"Sure, I'd love to!" They laughed some more, and Romano accidentally knocked over the champagne bottle. They sadly watched it drain into the sand.

"Chigi," Romano said idly, but he wasn't really that upset. "Do we have anything else to drink?"

"Yeah, there's some soda, hold on." Den rummaged around in the picnic basket for a bottle of soda while Romano got up to toss the empty champagne bottle in the trash.

"Dammit," he said, returning to the umbrella. "That was good stuff, too."

"Well, you've got more at home, right? We can get drunk when we go back!"

"Shut up, idiot. Hey, you should put more sunscreen on Den, or he's going to burn."

"Yeah, do it, Prussia, I don't want to have to put aloe on my back all week!"

While Prussia bent to his task, Romano broached a topic that had been intriguing him for a while. "You know, you bastards used to share a common border, before the potato bastard got all that land. I've always wondered how you got to be friends in the first place, because it always seems to me that nations with common borders are always fighting. Is it just recently you became friends? After the albino potato lost his nation status?"

"It's pretty tricky. We went back and forth a lot with the provinces of Schleswig and Holstein. I controlled them for a really long time – centuries before little Prussia was around." Denmark poked his friend. "But Holy Rome had Holstein for a long time, too."

"Holy Rome was a bastard."

"Well, whatever." Denmark then gave Prussia a funny look, but the albino seemed to be daydreaming as he recapped the sunscreen. "But eventually I got it all."

"Yeah, but then when people started learning about the awesome me, they wanted to – to _become one with me_ ," the albino laughed. "I really hate to use that phrase, but it was true. They had all kinds of referendums and votes and things, and they kept voting to become part of Prussia. Ha ha, old man!" He ruffled Denmark's spiky hair, which had still dried spiky when he came out of the water, hair gel or no.

"But it still didn't work. I still controlled it for about fifty more years before this idiot decided to go to war."

"You're so fucking belligerent, you albino bastard."

"Hey, the people wanted me, I wanted them; it was all good!"

"Except that I won the war, Prussia!"

"Well, yeah, there _was_ that…" His face fell. "But only temporarily! I tried again, and wham, beat this guy."

"Austria helped, you know. You didn't do it all yourself."

"Pfft, Austria…" Prussia waved dismissively. "He didn't help much." Romano laughed, knowing that was probably a bit of a stretch.

"Even England got involved in that one. He tried to bring about a peace between us, but…it didn't work."

"Yeah, I've seen how well he's able to influence you bastards." Romano snorted. "So then it was all Prussia's after that?"

"For a little while. Den was pretty laid-back about it after that. He had a lot of votes and things, too, but nobody really did anything about it. But then the northern part of Schleswig went to him, and I got all the rest, plus a lot more. Kesesese!"

"I don't see how you can crow about this stuff when you're actually an ex-nation now," Denmark pointed out.

"Are you still sore about it? Shit, Den, get over it. That was over a hundred years ago!"

"I'm not sore about it; I just don't understand your point of view."

"It's because he's 'awesome.'"

"Romano! You _do_ love me!" Prussia leaped over the picnic cloth to hug his friend, shouting with laughter.

"Get off, bastard, I was trying to be sarcastic, but I guess your feeble potato brain couldn't pick up on that." Prussia ignored him, hugging the struggling Italian and whooping. "Plus you're getting sunscreen all over me! Dammit!"

"Get off him, Prussia. Imagine what he's going to look like if he gets tan on parts of his body and not others."

"Like a spotted cow!" The albino reluctantly let go, still laughing, and went back to his towel. Romano scowled and tried to wipe off the sunscreen. Prussia reapplied his sunscreen; Romano pulled out his bottle of suntan oil to do the same.

By now they'd finished eating. "Here, give me the trash, I'll go toss it," Romano offered.

"I want to go swimming again. Who's coming with me?"

"I'll go," Denmark sighed. "Gotta keep you from drowning after your heavy meal!"

"Sunscreen him again, albino potato."

"No, I'll be all right, but thanks. Come on, Prussia, let's go in."

…

Romano was apparently asleep, face down in the sun, when the other two returned. "Shh, don't wake him! Damn, it's a really good thing we didn't make that bet!"

"Oh, come on, Denmark! How can I resist?" Prussia sat down next to Romano in the sun and reached out a hand to poke the Italian in the side.

"Don't touch me, dammit," Romano said sleepily.

"You're surprisingly calm." Denmark was surprised. The albino pouted and lay down on his towel.

"I'm feeling mellow."

"If you're that mellow, let me poke you!"

"Bastard."

"What time is it, anyway, Den?"

"About three?" Den checked his cell phone. "Hmm, yeah, three-fifteen."

"Did you get any – ah – uh –" Prussia pointed to the phone significantly, trying not to talk in front of Romano.

"Uh – ah, no, but at this point it's really kind of late, don't you think?"

"What are you bastards talking about?" Romano didn't open his eyes.

"Ah – nothing, nothing," Prussia hurriedly responded. "Just keep sleeping."

"Not sleeping, you idiot. Do you think I talk like this in my sleep?"

"Hey, let's get some gelato." Den tried to defuse the situation. "Come on, Prussia, let's go."

"Bring me back some, bastards."

The other two walked off to get some gelato.

When they came back Romano had managed to sit up and was looking around in confusion. "What's wrong?" Den asked.

"I just wondered where you guys were, that's all."

"We just went for the gelato! What's the matter with you? We were only gone about two minutes!"

"Gelato? Did you get me any?"

Both Prussia and Denmark stared at Romano.

"Bastards, what the hell are you staring at?"

"You asked us to get you some! We did. Were you _asleep_ or something?"

He considered. "Must have been. I don't remember talking about gelato at all."

"Wow, you're good. You even told us you weren't asleep!"

Romano shrugged and reached up for the cup that Prussia held, and as he took it, accidentally dropped it into the sand. "Dammit!"

"Well, it's not like you were sitting around waiting for it, sleepyhead."

"Shut up, you moron. Let me share yours." He buried the fallen treat in the sand.

Prussia was gracious enough to allow this, and sat in the sun while they took turns eating it. Denmark lay full-length on his beach towel, watching the water, eating his gelato, eventually putting his head down in his arms. "You bastards want to stay for dinner tonight?" Romano finally asked.

"Sure, that'd be great! Then we will have had three awesome cuisines today."

"No, only two _._ " Romano smirked and ate the last of the gelato.

"I really don't see why you have such a problem with German food," Prussia grumbled. "It's good!"

"Cheh."

They looked at Denmark for his opinion, but he was apparently asleep. Prussia gestured towards the water and Romano nodded; the two of them left the Dane sleeping and went to play in the water.

"How come you didn't want us to call Iggy for you?"

Romano floated on his back. "Told him I had to stay home and clean today. If he knew I was goofing off with you bastards he'd get all pissed off."

Prussia snorted. "Nah, he would have come with us."

"No way. Want to bet?"

"Sure, I'll bet. What will we bet?"

"Winner gets to choose, hmm…gets to choose the kind of food we eat next time we go out?"

"You mean that if I actually win this bet, you'll eat German food? Without complaining? Kesesese, you've got yourself a deal, Romano! We'll call him when we get back to your place."

"He's going to be pissed," Romano stated flatly, but they shook damp hands and Prussia began frolicking in the water. Romano continued to float serenely on his back with his eyes shut, feeling the soothing rocking of the waves beneath him.

"Hey, quit splashing," he eventually said, but it wasn't Prussia splashing, it was rain. "Hey, potato brain, it's raining! Come on, we have to get out of the water." They hurried back to the umbrella, where an awake Denmark was hurriedly trying to pack up all the towels before they got wet.

"Might as well head back," Romano sighed, "it would have been time to go soon anyway." They packed everything very quickly and headed back to Denmark's car.

"Damn it, though, I really wanted to stay for a while longer! I was asleep!"

"Yeah, we know, bastard, you looked so peaceful there. Maybe we should have bet that whoever stayed awake lost the bet!"

"Whatever. Let's just go."

"Are we sure we have everything? Are you awake enough to drive, Den?"

"Yes, yes, let's go. I hate getting rained on."

As they drove back to Romano's house, Prussia started twitching in his seat. "What's with you?" Denmark handed the cell phone to Prussia. "Here, check this again."

"I think I got some sunburn. My shoulders are itching."

"I have some aloe at home, bastard, I can put it on when we get there."

"Thanks. Damn, I hate being sunburned." He looked at the cell phone and handed it back to Den. "Nope, nothing."

"I think maybe I got a little burned, too," Denmark admitted. "My back feels hot."

"Cheh, yes, I have enough for you too…"

"Can we stay overnight? To let the aloe soak in?" Prussia turned in his seat to smile sweetly at Romano.

"Chigi! Why don't you just ask if you can stay because you want to stay? These cheap excuses always sound so – so _cheap,_ dammit." Romano rubbed his face, feeling stupid; he was tired and couldn't think of any better way to say it. "But yeah, you can stay if you like."

…

They drew into Romano's driveway. "What the hell's that?" he wondered. Something was laying under one of the large trees in his front yard.

"Ha ha! It's _Iggy_!" Prussia turned to Romano with an extremely gleeful expression. "Kesesese! I'm gonna win that bet, Romano!" He leaped out of the car before Denmark had parked it, and ran over to the bundle under the tree. "Wake up wake up!" He nudged it with his foot. "Wake up, come on, Iggy, wake up!" He was jumping up and down in his excitement.

"What bet's he talking about?" Den asked.

"Stupid bet about England. Dammit. Never mind about it."

England opened sleepy eyes and looked up at the albino. "What the hell are you doing, wanker?" He looked around. "Where am I?"

By this time Romano and Denmark had joined them. "What are you doing here, bastard?"

The island nation sat up. "Oh, right. Now I remember. I came over to help you clean house."

 _Oh._ The tiny amount of guilt that Romano had felt now mushroomed into a much larger amount of guilt. He looked down at his feet.

England rubbed his face. "What time is it?"

"About four-thirty," Den laughed. "Why? How long have you been here?"

"Got here around noon. Where were you? I thought you said you couldn't socialize today?" He looked up at Romano with the beginnings of a very irritated scowl.

"We went to the beach," put in Prussia, before Romano could make any lame excuses.

"You went to the beach," England repeated flatly. "Why didn't you call me? Fucking wankers. That's what you should have called yourselves, the Fucking Wankers." He put his head in his hands.

"Would you have come with the awesome us?"

"Of course I would, gits!"

"Kesesese! Wa ha ha!" Prussia began victory-dancing around the front lawn, doing cartwheels and handsprings and yelling, but Romano was too worried to bother about that now.

"Uh, I – uh –"

Denmark came to the rescue. "We've been texting you all day, England! Why haven't you checked your messages?"

Romano looked at Denmark, terrified of England's reaction when he eventually learned that not only had they failed to invite him, but that Den had lied about it. Denmark simply smiled at him.

England pulled out his cell phone and looked at it. "Huh, I forgot I had the ringer turned off. Bloody hell, a day at the beach would have been perfect. And damn! I just missed you. This first text is from 11:40, and I got here at noon! Blast _._ " He threw the cell phone down and scowled.

Romano now looked at Denmark, eyes wide in sheer amazement. "But – but I said –"

Denmark smiled fondly and hugged his friend, who hugged him back very tightly. Maybe it was going to be worth eating potato bastard food just to have gotten through that safely!

"What's up with you two?"

"Oh, nothing you need to worry about," Den laughed.

Prussia was still cavorting on the lawn. "German food, _German food_ ," he sang. "Romano's going to eat German food! Without complaining!"

"All right, then what's with him?" England asked, finally standing up.

"No idea," Denmark answered. "Romano won't tell me."

"Won a bet." Romano was a bit perturbed. Potato bastard food! Well, at least it wouldn't be tonight. Maybe Prussia would eventually forget. "Let's go inside. I'll get dinner started. Will you stay?" he asked England.

"Of course I'll stay, git, why would I haul myself all the way down here, spend the day waiting, and then leave?" He ruffled Romano's hair. "Come on, I'll help carry stuff in, if you need it." The three of them moved to the car. "Ow. I must have fallen asleep in the sun…my back feels burned." England lifted his shirt in the back. "Am I red?"

Romano looked at him. "Yep. Just a little, though, idiot, right above your waistband. Don't worry; I've got to get aloe on these pale bastards, so I'll take care of you too." He turned back to the exuberant Prussia. "Hey, albino potato, let's go inside!" Then Romano leaned forward to whisper in the island nation's ear. "Want to stay over, and go to the beach with me tomorrow?"

England smiled. "Love to."

…

"All right, bastards, here's the aloe. Knock yourselves out." Romano put a little bit on his hand and rubbed it on the sunburn at the base of England's back. Dinner had, as expected, been delicious, including three bottles of the good champagne and some more gelato for dessert, and all four of them were now relaxing in the living room together.

"Gah, that stuff is always so cold…"

Prussia and Denmark removed their shirts and carefully applied aloe vera to each other's burns. Then they all lay face-down on the rug.

"Too bad it's summer; we could have another fire."

"Save it, wanker."

Denmark just grinned as he looked into the cold fireplace. "I'm still feeling a little sleepy," he confessed.

"Want me to get pillows and blankets?"

"Yes, please!"

"Come on, bastard, come help me," he said to England.

They returned with an armful of bedclothes, only to find the other two asleep already, snoring.

"Dammit."

"Ah, whatever. Let's cover them up." They managed to slide pillows under their heads and then cover them up. "Do you want to stay downstairs with them?"

"That's – that's pretty decent of you, bastard. I kind of feel like I ought to stay down here tonight, in case they wake up and need something. We had a good day at the beach together."

"That's good. I'm still mad that I missed your texts, though. Er - do you mind if I sleep in the guest room? My back hurts from lying on the ground all afternoon. A bed would be better for me."

"I don't mind a bit. I'll see you in the morning." They shared a quick kiss and England went up to the guest room.

"Good night, you snoozy bastards," Romano muttered to his friends, taking a blanket and settling in next to Denmark. "I had a really fun day."

He fell asleep almost immediately.


	46. Snoozers II

_This chapter was formerly titled "Beach, Take 2."_

 _..._

 **Snoozers II.**

"Wake up, Romano! Hey, why did you sleep down here?"

Prussia was most annoyingly obnoxious this early in the morning. "Argh, you idiot, because we always sleep down here together when you guys stay over!" Romano tried to go back to sleep, but Den was awake now, too, and started rummaging around the room noisily.

"Where's Iggy?"

"Slept in the guest room. Lucky bastard, doesn't have to listen to you at this ungodly hour."

"Ungodly! It's nine o'clock! Hey, Den, how did we sleep so late? I never sleep this late."

Denmark stretched. "Who cares, we slept, we woke up, it's all good, right?" He laughed at Prussia's astonished expression. "Wanna go get some breakfast?"

"Sure. Let me wash up." Prussia slipped out of the room to use the bathroom, almost colliding with England on the stairs.

"You gits sure make a lot of noise in the morning," he grumbled.

"Tell me about it. Fucking northern bastards." Romano was still lying in his cocoon of covers. England walked over and sat on the floor beside him. They were both a little groggy, neither being a morning person.

Prussia came back into the room. "Are you two going to come out to breakfast with us?"

"Don't know. What time did you want to leave for the beach, Romano?"

"Chigi!" Romano flipped over and buried his face in the pillow. Dammit, why did England have to say that out loud? Now those idiots –

"We're going to the beach again today? _Awesome!_ " Prussia yelled.

Dammit. "Not you, bastard, just us."

Denmark put on the most amazing sad-puppy expression anyone had ever seen on his normally-cheerful face. "Aw, Romano! You don't want to hang out at the beach with us again?" But he couldn't maintain it, and grinned at his dark-haired friend.

"Ah, come on, it'll be all right." England leaned over to whisper in his friend's ear. "At least you won't have to hang out alone with Prussia at all."

"Cheh, yeah, all right, let's all go out for breakfast and then go to the beach. Uh, but – you bastards are all sunburned! Won't this make it worse?" he asked in a happier voice.

"I'll just keep my shirt on today," Denmark said.

"Hey, that's a great idea, Den! Kesesese! I'll do that too."

Romano sighed.

…

Over breakfast Prussia suddenly got a determined look on his face. "All right, listen. Iggy, do you ever fall asleep at the beach?"

Both Romano and Denmark rolled their eyes.

England frowned. "Sometimes. Don't spend much time at the beach, though."

"Okay, well, today we _are_ going to make this bet. Whoever falls asleep at the beach first loses the bet."

"Come on, albino potato, I'm already in debt to you for that stupid bet yesterday!"

"Well…I'll offer you this, Romano. If you take today's bet, and you win, I'll let you off the hook for yesterday's bet."

"Cheh, yeah, but what if I lose? You know I'm a beach sleeper. Plus you woke me up too early. It's almost a given that I'm going to lose a bet like that. Then I'll be stuck with _two_ potato bastard dinners!"

"Ah, no, today's bet won't be about dinner. Let's see…what will the prize be?"

Denmark finally managed to shove his oar in. "Wait, wait, wait a minute. Your bet is stupid, Prussia. That means as soon as Romano falls asleep, the betting is done! We need to make a bet that will last longer. Be too boring otherwise." He sipped his coffee. "You know he fell asleep right away yesterday."

"Did not! I was awake the whole time you bastards were out in the water."

"Huh, didn't look that way to _me_! Kesesese!"

"Anyway, bastard, you're assuming, again, that it's me who's going to lose."

"You just _said_ you would lose, Romano!" Denmark shook his head. "You're so – so –"

"Mercurial?" England offered.

"Idiotic, is more what I was thinking."

"Cheh, shut it, bastards."

"Ha ha, now you're even starting to _talk_ like Iggy!" Prussia cackled; Romano put his head down on the table. England poked him.

"Stop poking, bastard."

Den tried to make them focus. "So are we going to make a bet or not?"

"It seems like your bet is just worded wrong, wanker. You need to say 'whoever's the last one awake wins the bet' instead of 'first one to sleep loses.' Then just let the winner choose something." England slurped up some tea.

"Fine. Last one awake wins the bet. What will we choose?" Prussia wondered.

"Not a potato bastard dinner!"

"I already told you, if you win, you don't have to do the yesterday one."

"But if I _lose,_ albino potato, then I _will_ have to do two! Why don't you get this?"

"Everybody shut up," Denmark said. So they did. "Now. Are we agreed that the last one awake wins the bet?" Everyone nodded. "Fine. Now, everyone pick something you want, if you're the winner."

The four spent a few moments in contemplation. "Ooh, I've got a good one. Losers chip in to pay for a week at Swissy's place." Denmark grinned and drank some more coffee, motioning the waitress over for a refill.

Prussia's eyes grew wider. "Awesome, awesome! Yes, I take that bet. It would be fun for the meeting! Way better than a hotel."

"What meeting, git?"

"In Switzerland next month. Den's taking me with him."

"Oh. That's nice." England didn't look at Romano.

"Well, bastard?"

"Well, what?"

"Aren't you going to ask me?"

"Dunno. What are the chances you'll actually say yes? It's a five-day meeting."

Den snarled, "Just ask him, damn it."

"Fine. Will you go to the meeting with me, Romano?" England asked in a saccharine tone, drinking his tea, staring into space.

"Might as well, bastard, nobody else is going to be around."

England snorted. "There's just one more problem, you tossers. Switzerland's place is in Interlaken, and the meeting's in Geneva!"

"Oh." Faces fell after this announcement.

"Cheh, well, we could still do the bet, just not for the meeting. For the end of summer, maybe?"

"Nah, let's think of something else."

They idly picked at the remains of their food while the Skirmish Brothers tried to think of a bet reward.

"Home-cooked meal."

"Bullshit, you get that from me all the time, bastard. And I'm not sure I want you cooking for me! I mean, you live with you-know-who, and I really don't want to voluntarily come over there."

"Well, then, you come up with something." Prussia pouted.

"Trip to a spa. You can get all the backrubs you want."

"Oh, yeah, I'm glad you reminded me. I want another backrub today."

"Chigi! No more backrubs, albino potato."

"You've been giving Prussia backrubs?" Denmark was astonished.

"Yeah, I'd like to know about this, too, git."

"Argh." Romano rubbed his face. "I was putting sunscreen on him, that's all. Dammit."

England and Den both looked at Prussia suspiciously.

"Hey, don't look at me, he started it. Kesesese!"

"It's like eating breakfast in a bloody loony bin," England sighed.

"Shut up," Romano and Prussia both said.

"This is too weird. You two are never in this kind of harmony." England actually scooted away from Romano towards the window.

"Unless they're in collusion about something," Den pointed out. "What are you two cooking up?"

Romano poked him. "Nothing! Dammit, why are you even talking about this?"

Swat. "Because it's true? Come on, what's going on between you two?"

Prussia snorted. "Nothing. Can we get back to the terms of the bet?"

"Fine, whatever." The island nation turned to stare out the window while the other three continued to toss out suggestions, argue, and generally make themselves irritating. He finished off the whole pot of tea while he avoided listening.

"Hey, bastard, why aren't you saying anything?" Romano finally noticed.

" _I_ don't care about this stupid bet! This is one of your deals. I don't mind going along with it, but I really don't give a damn about it. I just wanted to go to the beach."

"Shit, it's almost eleven! Come on, we're going to miss the whole day." Denmark paid the bill and they rapidly left the restaurant.

…

By the time they got to the beach it was pouring down rain.

"Dammit, it's like a fucking _curse_ or something." All three of them turned to look at England.

"You three really are a bunch of lunatics. Why would I put a curse on the beach when I _want to be there_?"

"That makes sense," Denmark finally admitted.

"As if you could really curse the weather, bastard."

"Well…I bet he _could_ , if he wanted to…kesesese…"

England simply tried to look enigmatic. "What are we going to do now? Stick around and wait?"

"No, this is a really heavy rainstorm. Let's just go back to Romano's. We can play pool or something."

"We can take naps," the island nation suggested.

"Good idea." Romano was still feeling a little sleepy and he was kind of glad the beach bet was apparently off.

"I don't want to take a nap!" Denmark yelled. "I had a full night's sleep and I'm wide awake and I want to do something!"

"So go do something! Make up your fucking minds. Dammit, it's like you're all suddenly three years old again!"

"Aw, Den, I bet you were really cute when you were three years old." Prussia ruffled his friend's spiky hair.

A low, irritated growl from Romano in the back seat was the only response to this bit of idiocy. "Come here, git." England put his arm around Romano's shoulder. "Calm down, all right?" He bent to whisper in his friend's ear. "Maybe I can curse them into leaving."

Romano actually laughed at that and turned to whisper back. "You do that, bastard. I'll never give you grief about your mystic shit again."

"Deal."

"What are you two whispering about?" Prussia asked.

"Nothing. Just – let's go back to Romano's."

…

"Hey, Prussia, let's just leave these snoozers and go back home. I don't want to sit around and watch them take naps all day."

"Whatever you say, dearest. Is all our stuff in the car?"

"Yeah, we just need to get Romano's stuff out."

"All I had was my little bag, today. You bastards can keep the champagne."

"Aw, thanks. You know, you really do—"

" _Don't_ say it. Do _not_. Just get my bag out of the car and go!"

Prussia's whole expression drooped, but he did as he was told. "Party pooper."

Romano ignored this. "See you bastards later, at the meeting, if not sooner."

"Yeah. Thanks for letting us stay. See you, England!"

"Drive safely, gits." The two of them stood on the porch in the rain and watched the car drive off.

When they got inside, Romano turned to his friend. "You're not going to try and claim that you cursed them into leaving."

"Want to bet? Come say that to me again at one o'clock."

"What? Why?"

"You'll see."

They went upstairs to nap. Around one, Romano woke up in a pool of sunshine. He stretched and looked out the window. The weather was beautiful, sunny and hot, not a cloud in the sky. He grinned and nudged his sleeping friend.

"Hey, wake up, mystic bastard, let's go to the beach!"


	47. The Dangers of Chocolate

**The Dangers of Chocolate.**

The boys had all arrived at the meeting in Geneva; Romano rooming with England, and Prussia, of course, with Denmark. Everyone had settled in on the previous night, and they'd had a fun time at dinner, drinking a little more than usual, but not excessively so.

"Ugh," Denmark moaned, trying to wake up. "I really do not want to go to this meeting today." It was six in the morning; the meeting didn't start until eight, but Prussia, his usual obnoxious self, had risen early to do push-ups on the hotel room floor, despite his minor headache. Den had decided there was no point in continuing to sleep.

"Don't go," was Prussia's succinct response, as he changed to one-handed push-ups. "Romano and I were going to wander around town today while you guys were in meetings, anyway. Blow off the meeting and come with us!" He switched hands and continued his workout, not looking up at his friend.

"I doubt there's anything that critical I need to attend for, anyway. Sure, I'll go, if you let me sleep in. When you're done, go tell Swissy I'm indisposed. See if you can get somebody to take notes for me, too."

Prussia nodded with a grin and silently went back to his push-ups.

…

"Hey, bastard, aren't you supposed to be at the meeting?" They'd met up just before noon.

"Kesesese, Den has decided it would be more fun to hang out with us!"

Romano shrugged. "He's probably right. Where are we going to go?"

"Let's just wander around. Bound to find something to do while we walk, right?"

"Sure, let's walk."

Over the next hour the friends encountered and dismissed movies and a winery tour. They did stop for a nice little lunch, after wandering past some of the famous tourist attractions.

"I can't believe we're not finding anything to actually do _,_ " Denmark grumbled. "For this I blew off a meeting?"

"Ah, you're probably not missing much, you know. They'll be bickering all morning. I feel bad for poor Iggy, stuck there, taking notes for you."

"What? You're making him take notes for you, bastard? That's cold."

"Hey, don't look at me! I told Prussia to find 'someone' to take notes for me! I thought he'd ask Sweden or Norway. Even Germany."

"Why the hell did you ask England, dammit?" Romano poked Prussia in the arm.

"Why not? I knew he'd understand, if I told him Den wanted to come out with us." Swat.

Romano started growling, not even troubling to stifle it. "You are…fucking obnoxious," he finally decided. "I – well, never mind."

"Never mind what?" Denmark asked, genuinely interested.

"Nothing! It's just – well – if I tell Prussia how much I hate him, he'll just say 'You know you love me, Romano,' which I most emphatically do not, and I don't want to get into an argument about it!"

Both the others laughed at him, and he put his head on the table.

"Come on, let's get out of here. There's got to be something interesting to do."

They wandered off again and came to the lakefront. Tourist boats were busily coming and going. One sleek black boat with gold trim was idling at the dock. It had a discreet sign on it – _Premier Chocolat_ _._

"Wonder what that is?" Romano asked idly.

A young woman in black-and-gold livery heard him. "Premier Chocolat is a boat tour on Lake Geneva which combines tastings of exquisite Swiss chocolates from different manufacturers with fine brandies and cognacs from around the world, each perfectly matched to the type of chocolate being served." She beamed at the three friends, only now seeming to notice their slouchy casual clothing. Her face fell a little; she probably thought they couldn't afford it.

"How much? And how long does the tour take?" Prussia asked. Both Denmark and Romano laughed, knowing he didn't have any money.

The woman named a price. It was less than any of them had expected. "The tour is ninety minutes long."

"What the hell, let's do it," Romano said. "We can pay for the albino potato, right, Den? I mean, we all love chocolate and booze."

The woman bristled. "Sir! We do not serve booze _._ We serve high-quality liquor."

Denmark bit his lip. "Want to go?" He nudged Prussia.

"Chocolate and boo—high-quality liquor is an awesome combination, Den. Yes, let's."

The boat was beautiful, with a lounge that seated about fifteen people. It was nearly full when they walked in, but they did manage to sit together. "Kesesese, I do love chocolate. We should buy some to take with us when we go."

"Maybe they don't sell it on the boat? She said they have chocs from lots of different manufacturers. Maybe you have to go find them yourself when you're done?"

"Cheh, well, we can at least ask. I'm making you bastards buy a box for England since you were so harsh to him."

"I already told you, it wasn't my idea!"

"But it's your fault _._ If you hadn't skipped the meeting, the stupid albino potato wouldn't have had to ask!"

"Shut up, Romano, you're getting too worked up about it."

Romano punched Prussia in the arm and then picked up a brochure to read about the boat tour. The boat left the dock and the servers brought around the first set of chocolate and liquor. A host stood at the front of the room and explained the origin of each, describing how they complemented each other. The friends tried both and found it to be a delicious combination.

"Hey, are we going to make a bet?"

"Not again," Romano muttered, but Prussia perked up.

"Sure, Den! What?"

"Hmm. I guess it all depends on how much booze – er, high-quality liquor – they serve us. I was going to suggest the 'who passes out first' bet, but I'm pretty sure they won't serve that kind of quantity on a tourist boat."

"Plus, bastard, do you really want to pass out on a tourist boat? How fucking humiliating. What if they threw you overboard?" Romano actually laughed at this idea.

"I'd take that bet, if I thought they'd serve us enough. But you're right, they probably won't." The server brought the second round.

"Well, now, wait a minute," Romano said, still looking at the brochure. "They do _sell_ booze on this boat."

"High-quality liquor."

"Shut up, potato brain. You know what I meant. We could buy a bottle of brandy. Whoever drinks the last shot in the bottle loses. You have to do a full shot each time and we have to go in order, so everybody gets a shot every time. It's just random luck of the draw for who will end up with the last shot." Romano sat back, pleased with his idea.

"I don't like bets like that," Prussia countered. "I need a bet where my innate awesomeness will show through. Random luck-of-the-draw stuff, that doesn't do it for me." He leaned back to allow the server to place the third round of chocolates and cognac on the table. The host continued to explain the servings, but the three friends were no longer actively listening.

"Yeah, your 'innate awesomeness' made you pass out first, last time we were drinking," Romano pointed out with a smirk. "Bastard."

"That was a fluke."

"Ha, then, let's buy three bottles of brandy, one for each of us; last man standing wins!" Denmark sampled the chocolate with its cognac accompaniment. "Damn. This is good stuff. Try it."

"Den, that's a fucking stupid idea. An entire bottle of brandy? We would pass out and then what if they did throw us overboard?" Romano tried the new arrival. "Yes, this is very good stuff indeed. Rum in the chocolate, if I'm not mistaken."

"Don't be stupid, Romano, if they threw us overboard and we were passed out, we'd drown, and they'd be liable for lawsuits." Prussia ate his chocolate. "Yes, it is rum. Stupid to serve cognac with a rum-based chocolate."

"So should we do it? We have to all get the same bottle, so it's a controlled experiment."

"Let's see if there's a brandy we like."

They all looked at the list of liquors for a few moments. Meanwhile, a server came around with the fourth menu item. Both Prussia and Romano ate and drank without looking up from the brochure; Denmark, more polite, or perhaps simply more interested in the excursion, listened to the host describe the cognac and chocolate.

Prussia finally announced, "Ah, they have some good stuff here. The only little bottles they have are Remy Martin, though."

"Why do we have to get little bottles, bastard?"

"So we don't pass out? Honestly, Romano, you're the one who was worried about that!"

"You – Prussia, you are the most obnoxious…"

"But…you…know…you…love…me!" Prussia moved his chair back to avoid Romano's kick, which did not happen.

Instead, the brunet sighed. "Fine. I love you. Now shut up."

"Awesome!" Prussia did a little victory dance - more of a victory wiggle - in his chair, gulping down his most recent drink. "I knew you did."

Denmark looked up from the brochure as the server brought the fifth item. "I don't believe he actually meant that, Prussia."

"Aw. I know it's true even if he didn't mean it."

"Shut up! I didn't mean it!"

They ate their fifth items, by now in a slightly happy alcoholic haze, not really bothered about the bet any longer. "This is really good stuff," Romano said happily. "I love chocolate."

Denmark laughed. "Yeah. It's the chocolate that's making you so happy."

"Kesesese! Chocolate is full of awesome endorphins! It makes everybody happy! Here comes the next thing."

Romano shot back his brandy immediately and then leisurely ate the chocolate.

Prussia chewed up the candy and then poured the brandy into his mouth with it, making a slurry before swallowing it all.

Denmark tried to be a little more discreet, and nibbled on the candy while sipping his drink and listening to the host.

"I'm glad you came out with us today, Den," Romano offered, tracing his fingertip along the wood grain of their little table, grinning. "It's always so fun to hang out with you." He flashed a happy smile at his Danish friend.

Den just ruffled Romano's hair affectionately. "I'm glad, too, because it's so rare that I get to see you acting all goofy and mellow, especially around Prussia."

"Dammit." The server arrived with another serving.

Prussia missed this; he was staring out the boat window at the scenery. "Swissy sure has some nice places." He kept staring out the window wistfully, while Den and Romano polished off the new chocolate and cognac arrivals. Eventually the albino looked back at the table and saw his serving waiting for him, and idly ate and drank.

"Why do I feel drunk?" Den eventually asked. "Have we really had that much to drink?"

"Ask the guy when he comes back," Prussia suggested. "Ask him how much we've had."

"Chigi! Don't do that. We'll look like a bunch of lightweights! Let's count."

Eventually they agreed that this most recent sample had been the seventh.

"I probably wouldn't be so bad off if we hadn't gone out drinking last night," Den admitted. "I just want to go to sleep."

"You slept all morning!" Prussia pointed out. Denmark didn't respond. "Plus, we never did make our bet."

"Like it would matter, albino potato. You passed out first last time, you'd pass out first again this time."

"Shut up, Romano, that's not true. I only passed out because Iggy kept pushing your drinks at me, so that you wouldn't lose!" The server came by again; all three nations automatically ate the chocolates and drank the drinks, not really paying attention at this point.

"Cheh, well, whatever. Anyway, I really do not think they're going to serve us enough to get us drunk."

"Speak for yourself," Den laughed, putting his head on the table.

"Hey, if Den's going to pass out, we ought to make the bet right now! Kesesese!"

"No bet," Denmark groaned. "Won't take that one."

"Ha ha, blondie, looks like you lose!"

"I thought it was 'last man standing'? That means you could still lose, Romano." The server brought another tray of samples.

"You think I'm going to pass out? After only eight shots?" He started laughing maniacally as he drank, almost as bad as Prussia's laugh. They knew Denmark had passed out, because he didn't even react.

"More than eight. Ten? How much longer until this boat docks? Damn, now we're going to have to get a cab to drag him back."

"It was your idea to bring him along, potato, you deal with him!"

"That's just - unfair, Romano." Prussia hiccupped. The server came by with another tasting. Prussia drank Denmark's cognac and Romano ate his chocolate.

"It's not unfair. But, since it's Den, I guess I'll help. Don't you go passing out, too, because I can't manage both of you."

"Mmm," Prussia agreed, resting his head on the back of his chair.

"Don't! Dammit!" He poked Prussia fiercely in the stomach.

"Mmm," was the albino's only response.

"Dammit. Excuse me," he said to the server. "How much longer until the boat docks?"

"About ten minutes, sir."

"Thank you." The server left and Romano pulled his cell phone out, setting it on the table. "Hey, albino potato, did you actually pass out?"

No answer. The intensely-irritated Romano thought maybe he'd call England to come help him with these two drunk bastards.

…

Romano awoke in the dark, head pounding, an elbow jabbing him in his side. "Dammit, bastard, move over, you're poking me. Ow." He clutched his head, trying to push England away.

"Stop shoving!" came Denmark's voice from the middle of the bed. "Ow. My head."

"Den? What are you doing in our bed?"

"Will you two stop yelling?" Prussia was on the other side of Denmark. "My head is killing me. What the hell's going on, anyway? Why are we all in the same bed?"

There was a stomping noise and suddenly the room blazed with light. All three of them covered their eyes, groaning, while England stood at the light switch like an avenging angel in striped pajamas. "You bloody stupid wankers. I can't believe you went on a boat tour and got drunk enough to pass out. All three of you. In the middle of the bloody afternoon _._ I had to come rescue you!"

"Uh...Turn off the lights, Iggy, please…?" Prussia rolled face-down on the bed.

"No."

"Wh-why are they in our room, bastard?"

"Because I didn't know which room they were supposed to be in! The key cards aren't marked."

"Please lower your voice, England," Denmark begged. He covered his head with a pillow.

"No!" he roared, just to goad them.

"Grr…bastard…"

"After I was nice enough to come get you? That's harsh, Romano, especially coming from you. How much did you gits drink, anyway?"

"Dunno…what, maybe five shots," Prussia guessed.

"Five shots of what?"

"Cognac and brandy. But you know it was more than five shots. We were up to seven at some point, remember? We counted them up, bastards."

"Uh," the albino groaned.

Romano ignored this. "Will you please turn out the fucking light?"

"I'm waiting _,_ " England tried to explain, "for these wankers to get out of our room!"

"Uh." Den tried to sit up. "What room are we in?"

"I told you, I don't know, because it's not marked on your bloody key cards."

"I meant, what room are we in right now?"

"Oh. Seven hundred."

Prussia sat up. "Huh, aren't we in seven-oh-three?"

"Yeah. Come on, let's go." Den helped him stumble to the door, groaning some more. Before they left, they turned back to Romano.

"Thanks for hanging out with us, Romano. I had a good day. And…I love you too."

"Bastard! Ow…" Romano rolled face down, trying to hide his humiliation and his throbbing head.

"See you tomorrow," England sighed.

"Hey, thanks, Iggy. You're a good friend."

"Yeah, I know. I have your notes, Denmark; I'll give them to you in the morning."

"Thanks."

The two left and England turned the lights off, sitting on the edge of Romano's bed. "You tosser."

"Don't even tell me about it. My head is killing me."

"Good."

"Cold-hearted tea-drinking bastard."

"Do you want aspirin? Coffee?" He reached over and stroked Romano's hair gently.

 _"_ You drive me nuts."

"Fine. Shut it and go to sleep." England moved to the other bed and rolled away from his friend.

There was a silence, and then: "Thanks, bastard."

"Anytime, wanker."


	48. Modern Warfare

**Modern Warfare.**

Prussia had just awakened from his afternoon nap when the doorbell rang. "Hey, West! Get the door!" There was no response, so he somewhat sleepily drifted to answer it. "What are you doing here?"

"Git. I have a meeting with your brother. We're going to discuss some business, and then maybe go out to dinner." England pushed rudely past Prussia into the house. "Where is he?"

"Dunno. I just woke up. Hey, _West_!" Still no response. "Well, make yourself at home; you're welcome to hang out a while, if you want to wait for him. Maybe he just went to the store for something."

"Bloody hell, this isn't like him. All right, I'll wait. Thanks."

"Want to play some Modern Warfare while we wait?"

"Are you kidding? You know I don't know how to do that shite."

"Come on, Iggy, it's easy. I'll show you. If we have some beers then it will be even easier! Kesesese!"

"Stop calling me Iggy, won't you? I really hate that."

"What? You're kidding. America calls you Iggy all the time." They sat at the kitchen table.

"Do you think I'd actually be able to change his mind about something like that? If I told him to stop, the tosser would keep doing it anyway, just because he knows it irritates me."

Prussia pulled a few beer bottles from the fridge. "Well, I absolutely refuse to call you 'England.' That's so stuffy. Under that sour old exterior still beats the heart of a warmonger."

England gave him a very funny look. "Sour old exterior?"

"Hah, you know it's true."

"Well, you may be right, git, but…then the only other option is for you to call me by my human name."

"I don't even remember what that is! Here, have a beer."

"Figures. It's Arthur. Arthur Kirkland."

"Well, if I'm going to call you Arthur, you have to call me Gilbert. Nobody ever calls me Gilbert anymore."

England considered this. "All right, Gilbert, you've got a deal. No more 'Iggy.'"

"It's a deal, Arthur." They toasted each other with the bottles before drinking. "So, are we going to play?"

"But you know I have no idea about that stuff."

"Come on. We can start with a training mission." They took their bottles to the living room and Gilbert turned on the console and TV. "I'm glad you're here. West usually won't let me do this."

"Why the hell does he even have the console, then? I have a hard time picturing him playing video games." Arthur sat on the couch and caught the controller that Gilbert threw at him. "What are all these buttons? Bollocks."

"Just be calm, Ig-Arthur. All right? Let me get it set up and I'll show you."

The game booted up. Gilbert took a few minutes to explain the nuances of the controller and the game. "So we'll just start out with a training mission; I'll take the lead, and you be my backup. I'll tell you when to shoot."

"Screw that; I'll shoot when I feel like it."

"No, you can't, because you might shoot the wrong people! It's not like old wars when everybody had nice distinct uniforms on."

Arthur growled. "I need another beer if I'm going to hang out with you any longer."

"Fine, hold on. Are you all right with keg beer? We have a couple different ones on tap."

"Sure, surprise me with some 'awesome' German beer. Need help?"

"No, just hang out, drink your beer, play the game if you want."

Arthur declined to play the game alone and spent his time examining the controller buttons while Gilbert pulled a few fresh beers. "All right, Ig-Arthur, damn, that is so hard to remember, are you ready to play?"

"Might as well get started, wanker."

The training mission went well; Arthur was attentive enough (and uneasy enough) to follow all of Gilbert's instructions to the letter, and they were very pleased at the outcome. "That's it?" Arthur asked. He went to the bar and poured himself another drink.

"Well, that's about it for training missions. Want to play the real game? You versus me?"

"Ha ha…yes. But I'm getting hungry. I was supposed to have dinner with Germany, remember?"

"Yeah, I didn't eat yet either. Want to order a pizza?"

"Good idea…Gilbert. You order, I'll pay. Get two, I'm really hungry." Arthur knew as well as everyone else that Gilbert was chronically broke.

"Awesome. I was afraid I was going to have another boring night!" The albino phoned for the pizza.

"All set? Let's play," Arthur demanded. "We can stop when the pizza gets here, right?"

They played again, bouncing on the couch, shooting and yelling. Gilbert won, but Arthur did a pretty good job. "Good work!" Gilbert told him. "Just for that, you can have another beer."

"Git." The doorbell rang; Arthur handed his friend some money for the pizza.

The albino came back beaming. "This smells great. Thanks, Arthur. I haven't had good pizza in a long time."

They took a break from playing to eat and drink a bit. "Why are you so into video games, anyway?" Arthur asked.

"Why not? Something to pass the time. Get me a beer."

Arthur complied. "I guess with you being an ex-nation, you don't really have a lot to keep you occupied."

"Huh, that's the truth! I keep asking West to give me some kind of work to do, but he won't." Gilbert burped. "Man, I love pizza."

"Maybe he realizes you'd be totally inept at anything that didn't involve fighting," Arthur suggested nastily.

"You're so brutal, Iggy."

"Wanker. Are we going to play some more?"

"Of course!" They polished off their pizza and beer, refilling their glasses. "Hang on, I need the bathroom."

"Hm. Good idea."

After they were done with that, they stepped up to a more intricate map. "You're going down, Junker boy," Arthur sneered.

"Like you could take me down, tea-drinker!" Gilbert hopped off the couch and began jumping up and down in place as they played. Both he and Arthur got more and more agitated, yelling at the game, yelling at each other, as the carnage intensified.

Gilbert won the round. "See? Too awesome for you, Arthur." He turned on the stereo and started blasting some classic rock.

"I'm going to win the next one! Get me another beer."

"Fine. Don't eat the last piece of pizza!"

"You're a complete git. We still have a whole pizza we didn't even start yet!"

"Oh yeah. Kesesese! Open the box, I'm still hungry."

They opened the second pizza and ate a few slices rapidly, eager to get back to the game. "Where's my beer?"

"Oh, I left them on the bar. Sorry." Gilbert got up to fetch the beers.

"You do have the best beer," Arthur admitted. "Ours are good, but yours are better."

"Naturally. Come on, let's play."

Another, more difficult map; another bout of shouting and leaping about. Gilbert won the round. "You really think you can beat me, Artie?"

"Bloody hell! Artie is just as bad as Iggy!"

"Get over yourself, old man," Gilbert laughed. "You're not going to beat me tonight."

Instead of responding to this, Arthur said, "It's hot in here." He peeled off his shirt and threw it aside.

"You're right." Gilbert unbuttoned his shirt, but didn't take it off. "Are we having more pizza?"

"Might as well; there's not much left." They polished off the second pizza and Gilbert flung the box into the corner of the room, accidentally knocking over Arthur's beer in the process.

"Bloody hell, Gilbert!"

"Heh, sorry, I'll get you another one."

"Aren't you going to clean that up?"

"You're being too uptight again! It's no problem. West will do it later!"

Arthur was mellow enough from the quality German beer that he didn't argue with this implausible statement. Gilbert gave him another beer. They drank happily for a minute before turning back to the game.

During this higher round, Arthur began snarling at the screen, very intent on beating his friend, but Gilbert still won the round. "Bollocks!" Arthur yelled, flinging the controller on the floor.

"Don't do that! West won't buy me a new one if I break it." Gilbert picked up the controller lovingly and set it on the couch.

Arthur snarled again. "I'm going to the bathroom, and when I get back, we are going to play again, and I am going to take you down!"

"I'd like to see that!" Gilbert called after his retreating back. He took his flapping, sweaty shirt off and shot it across the room into the empty pizza box. "Score!"

…

Outside: "Thank you for dinner, Germany! It was quite good, wasn't it, _fratello?"_

"Dammit."

The three of them walked up to the front door of Germany's house and stopped short, hearing the screaming and loud music from within. "Ve, is Prussia having a party tonight?"

"I certainly hope not." Germany seemed afraid to unlock the front door.

"Open it up, bastard, maybe it's Denmark."

"Romano, that's way too much noise for just two people!"

"You don't know Prussia," Romano and Germany said in unison. Romano looked appalled at this. Germany simply opened the door.

"That's really loud! It can't possibly be just Prussia and Denmark, ve."

"Don't put it past him," Germany cautioned, leading the three of them towards the living room.

"You'll never live through my Blitzkrieg!" they heard Prussia yell, above the music and the noise of shooting.

"Who actually _won the war_ , you jackbooted wanker?"

The newcomers all stopped short and looked at each other; Romano then broke away and ran into the living room. The other two followed hastily.

The two combatants were deep in the middle of the next round – Arthur was winning – leaning against each other, shouting, trying to shoulder each other out of the way of the TV – when they heard Germany's voice behind them. "Prussia! Oh…England…"

"Hey, Germany!" Arthur yelled without turning around.

"West! Come have a beer!" Gilbert hollered, turning, and freezing, when he saw the three of them standing there staring. "Whoops."

Germany had apparently just remembered he'd had a meeting scheduled with England, because he had covered his face with his hands. Veneziano had his usual beaming, clueless smile…and Romano was staring at the drunk, shirtless gamers in shock.

"Ah-ha!" Arthur crowed, having taken advantage of Gilbert's inattention to win the round. "Told you I'd beat you!" He turned and grabbed Gilbert in an exuberant hug, spinning him around, not stopping when he noticed the others. "Romano! Hi!" He finally stopped twirling and beamed at his friend in amazement, still with one arm around the albino's waist. "Come to play?" He let go of Gilbert. "Hi, Veneziano."

"Bastard, you…what…?" Romano was speechless.

Gilbert decided beer was the only way to rescue this situation. "Have a beer, everybody! We're drinking the Holsten, West. Hope you don't mind." He crossed to the bar and poured fresh beers for himself and Arthur, who was still beaming at the stricken Romano from across the room, idly dangling the controller from his fingers.

"Ve, you guys have been eating German pizza, haven't you?" Veneziano's delicate nose wrinkled in the air. "And drinking a lot of beer!"

"Kesesese, yes, we have!" Gilbert cackled. "We have had an awesome time tonight. Arthur is a very good gamer!"

"You play video games, bastard?"

"Not until tonight. But it's fun. I'm kicking his albino arse!" He turned back to the TV, laughing maniacally. "Are we playing another round, Gilbert?"

Germany turned down the stereo. "England, I'm terribly sorry I forgot about our meeting. I—"

"That's all right; you were distracted by Veneziano, weren't you?" Arthur interrupted, choosing the next map. "We can meet some other time. Come on, Gilbert, drink your beer and let's play. Hey, can these guys play too?"

"No, you can't have more than two on an Xbox. Unawesome, I know, but the screen splits up too much."

"Bollocks."

"Come on, Veneziano; let's leave the gamers to their game." Germany took the younger man's hand to lead him from the room. "Romano? Are you coming with us?"

"Cheh, like I'd go with you idiots when I can hang out with my friends. Go. Besides, I have some questions for these guys." Germany shrugged and left with Veneziano.

Gilbert looked a little worried at that, and just now seemed to realize that both he and Arthur were shirtless. He cut his eyes to his shirt in the pizza box, and realized it would be impossible to retrieve without him looking like an idiot. "Anyway, it just looks funny. We were just overheated, that's all. Come and sit down, or grab a beer." He picked up his controller and turned back to the game. They started the round a little less obnoxiously this time.

Romano got a beer for himself, scowling at it, but drinking it nonetheless. "What are you talking about, potato brain?"

"Why we're not wearing shirts!"

"Oh, yeah, I forgot!" Arthur was too intent on the game to bother about his shirt.

"Huh, I hadn't even noticed. Hey, bastard, are you going to pay any attention to me, or just play video games?" He poked England in the bare back.

"I have all night to pay attention to you, Romano! I need to beat Gilbert!"

Gilbert's eyes widened. Romano was going to be pissed about that.

But no. "Bastard." The Italian flung himself down on the couch. "What I want to know is why are you guys calling each other Arthur and Gilbert instead of your nation names?"

"Not important," Gilbert said, being a little more attentive to the game. He needed to be – Arthur was thrashing him again! "Damn it!"

"I told you, you Teutonic tosser, you may have been a bloody mighty military power at one time, but you'll never beat this sour old warmonger again!"

"Damn!" Gilbert threw the controller on the couch as Arthur won the round.

"You bastards are unbelievable."

"I agree that I am unbelievable," Arthur crowed. "I am unbelievably good at this! Who would have suspected it?" He came over and gave Romano a brief hug. "You're so cute. It's great to see you."

Romano turned bright red and pulled a pillow over his face, rolling his eyes.

"You're a – a bastard, is what you are," Gilbert laughed back at him. "I bet if we changed to another game, you'd suck just like you did when we started."

"Shut it, git. It just proves I'm a fast and focused learner. You don't get to be a mighty empire like the United Kingdom without picking up some skills along the way. Come on, Romano, want to play?"

Romano took the pillow away from his face. "Sure. Let me play against Prussia, though. If you're so fucking great, then I don't stand a chance of beating you."

Arthur handed him the controller with a grin. "Want a beer?"

"Yes, please!" Gilbert said. "Give one to Lovino, too."

"What? Bastard, stop calling me by that stupid, girly name!"

Both Gilbert and Arthur looked at their friend, considering.

"Yeah," Arthur finally said. "Keep calling him Romano."

"Deal," replied the albino. "Now get us some beer." Arthur hurried behind the bar to get the drinks.

Within two minutes Romano was just as frenzied as the other two, desperately trying to beat Gilbert, and Arthur had turned the stereo back up, dancing around the room. But Gilbert won the round.

Romano drank some beer to console himself. "Dammit. Here, bastard, you play again."

"Play against me, Romano! I'll use Gilbert's controller."

"Uh…but if you keep beating him, and he keeps beating me, then I don't stand a chance, idiot!"

"Oh, come on, I'll go easy on you." He gave Romano the sweet smile, a bit sillier than usual thanks to all the beer.

"Cheh, yes, all right, just one round." Gilbert poured more beer while the other two battled it out on screen, hollering and bumping each other in front of the TV. Arthur won.

"See, bastard, I told you!" Romano drank some beer to cool down.

"Your problem is that you're still wearing a shirt," Gilbert pointed out. "Arthur and I both started playing much better once we took our shirts off."

Romano gave him a very skeptical look. "That's the stupidest – most stupid – that's just dumb!"

"Try it and see?" Arthur suggested.

Romano rolled his eyes and finished his beer. "Fine. No poking." He took his shirt off and threw it on the couch. "Now who am I playing against?"

"Me again!" This from Arthur, who came over grinning to lift Romano up with a big bear hug.

"Get off me, drunk boy. Let's play." They played a round, and Romano did do better, but Arthur won.

"Kesesese! My turn, I want to play Romano again."

As Arthur stepped back to allow Gilbert his playtime, he saw a note slide under the door. "Hey, wait." He picked it up and read it. "Ha, Germany and Veneziano want to go to bed and they want us to shut up! Ha ha! They sent us a _note_!"

"Chigi! That damn potato bastard, corrupting my _fratello…_ " Romano threw the controller down in the middle of the round, stomping towards the door.

"Romano?" Arthur put a soft hand on his arm to stop him with a pleading look. Gilbert kept shooting wildly at Romano's inert character.

"Wh-what?" He blushed, looking at the soft expression on his friend's face.

"Just – just let them be?"

"Dammit, why are you always so sympathetic towards that bastard?"

Gilbert continued to yell and shoot while Arthur explained. "Because I always think how it would feel if Veneziano tried to stop us being together, and I hate that idea."

Romano turned red, but he went back to the couch and drank some more of his beer. "You're a fucking bastard," he muttered. Arthur just grinned at him.

Gilbert finally finished pulverizing Romano's character and flopped back on the couch. "Damn, this is exhausting."

"Then stop playing, albino potato."

"I think I will. I can't decide if I want to eat more, drink more, or go to bed!"

"Go to bed," Romano and Arthur chorused.

Gilbert smirked at them. "Yeah, yeah. You guys want to stay? We can sleep in here. I'll get some blankets and stuff."

"Yeah, you owe me a couple of nights," Romano agreed. "Go get the blankets."

"You staying, Iggy?"

"Wanker. Yes, _Prussia_ _,_ I'm staying."


	49. Camping Trip

**Camping Trip.**

Romano was not happy _._ Why had he let England drag him off on a camping trip? Dammit, he hated roughing it. Sure, the car was packed with things to make the trip more comfortable, but still…he really wasn't sure how this would go. He'd give it a shot – just once – for England's sake.

The blond drew up to a wooded area and parked. "You'll like Dartmoor. It looks pretty bleak from a distance, but up close, it's fascinating. Come on; help me get the gear out of the car."

When they stepped out of the circle of trees, the view did indeed take Romano's breath away. Rolling hills for miles, rocky outcrops; the distant landscape dotted with what must be sheep; the expansive blue sky, puffed with clouds. Cairns and trees and even some cows, way over there. Fields and farms. He could see a distant valley which maybe had a river coursing through it? England was right – this was beautiful! "You, you – hey, bastard, this is amazing!" He dropped the sleeping bags at his feet and stared around him.

"Knew you'd like it. Hang on; I'll get the tent set up." England busied himself with making camp, occasionally smiling at his friend's nature reverie. Soon the tent was up and most of their gear was stowed inside.

"Why didn't you put the mattress in there?" Romano finally came out of his daze to ask.

"I, er," England blushed, busying himself with the food bags, "haven't you ever wanted to make love under the stars?" He didn't look at Romano. "Maybe you've done it before? I haven't, and, and I thought it would be really nice. It's going to be a nice warm night tonight. But if you don't want to, then –"

"Stop babbling." Romano closed his mouth with a kiss. "No, I never have, and yes, it sounds like a good idea. A great idea," he clarified. His friend looked up, smiling, and kissed him again.

"I'm glad you like it."

Suspicion grew in the brunet. "Is that the only reason you dragged me out here?"

"No, you git! I really love being out here, and I thought you might enjoy it too, getting away from work and the city and everything. I'm an old hand at camping, so it ought to be fine, and not stressful for you. I tried to remember to bring everything that would make it more comfortable for you."

"Cheh, well, I'm here, aren't I? Let's make the best of it." He noticed the tent was pitched. "How the hell did you do that already?"

"It's one of the modern ones. The guy who invented the bungee cord deserves to be canonized. It used to take an hour to put up a tent like this, but now I can do it all myself in a couple of minutes."

"Don't look at me. The last time I was in a tent was with Grandpa Rome!"

"Come on. Let's go for a walk." England took his hand and they wandered off onto the moor. Romano decided not to call him on the hand-holding shit, because there was nobody around, and besides, it felt kind of nice. Appropriate for this serene place.

The sunlight felt warm, although the habitual winds blew. It made a pleasant contrast. They stopped to examine the birds, tiny flowers, and little streams – more like rivulets – running through the landscape. England took time to explain about the tors and the way that over time people had harvested the fieldstone to build houses and walls. The peaceful sheep in the distance surprised Romano because they ambled aimlessly around, but his friend pointed out that they were, in fact, marked, as well as kept apart by the low stone fencing.

"Wish I'd brought a sketchbook. You should have said, bastard."

"Well, we could drive down to the village later and get one? Or we can always come back some other time."

"Hmm, let me think about it. Somehow going back to civilization after this seems kind of dull and routine."

"Just let me know. There's really nothing else we need from the village, so if you can live without it, we can easily just stay on the moor."

"Yeah, that's fine. Come on, show me some more." They climbed together to the top of a tor, where they looked down at the view of fields and distant towns. Romano felt quite at peace up here.

"Can we sit down? I'd like to look at this for a while. I want to keep it in my memory. I'm not even sure sketching it would have done any good…it's too, I don't know, majestic? Expansive?"

England beamed. "I knew you'd like it. Sure, come sit."

The two nations sat side-by-side on the rocky outcropping, each lost in a daydream. After a while, England put his arm around Romano's waist, and the brunet leaned his head serenely on his friend's shoulder. A few hikers wandered by at a distance and gave friendly waves, which England returned.

"Did I ever tell you how delicious you smell?"

England looked a bit surprised. "Well, you said something about it once," he finally remembered. "When we had the kissing lessons." He leaned forward to kiss him.

"You smell like this place," Romano clarified. "Like this, and the sea. When I said that, I knew it was some kind of plant or foresty thing, but this is definitely it."

"You always smell like sunshine, and tomatoes, and the harvest," his friend offered in return. "Warm and delicious."

Romano blushed and quickly changed the subject. "No wonder you like the nature shit so much, with places like this."

"You don't have to be so vulgar about it," England laughed.

"Cheh, yeah, I do, you know me."

"You're right. I do know you, git." The blond kissed his friend quickly and stood up. "Come on, it's a few miles back to the campsite, and it's going to start getting dark soon."

…

After a hasty meal in the darkening evening, England lit the big fire. "Do you like to roast marshmallows?"

"I don't know. Never tried."

"Well, let's roast some, see if you like them." The island nation showed Romano how to spear the marshmallow, how to hold it near the fire, but not too near. A few marshmallows did go up in flames, but they merely dumped them and started new ones. After a few successful ones, toasted and eaten, he looked over at England to see an intent and speculative smile on his face.

"What are you planning now, bastard?" He raised an eyebrow. His friend merely leaned forward with a warm, toasted marshmallow, and trailed it all around Romano's mouth, finally squishing it against his lips. " _Oh._ " Romano licked his mouth clean of the marshmallow and retaliated.

When England closed his eyes and began to lick marshmallow off his lips, Romano brought his mouth close to assist. Oh, that sugary taste was even better when laid over the salty taste of England's lips. He finished licking the marshmallow off and looked suggestively over at the air mattress. The blond nodded, dreamy with desire, and they walked over to it hand-in-hand. Romano spared a minute to look around the area, realizing that he could not see much beyond the outlines of their own fire.

As they stripped in the moonlight, he started to worry about this, and chose to lay down on the mattress submissively for a change.

England seemed a bit taken aback, but didn't hesitate to crawl over him, kissing him, licking his neck. "Any reason you're so…accommodating tonight? It's unlike you to, to let me…Not without an argument, anyway." His voice drifted off.

"No – no real reason."

The island nation sat back on his haunches. "There's got to be _some_ reason, you demon. What's the matter?" He reached for the bottle of lube and poured a little bit onto his fingers.

"Uh, I, uh…"

England stopped what he was doing and looked at him in concern. "Do you not want to do this? We don't have to –?" He put the cap back on the bottle.

"No, that's not it… I do want it…I'm just, just worried about wild animals sneaking up on me. It would knock me off my stride." He looked off to the side in embarrassment.

England's peals of laughter were loud and long. "Oh, Romano!" He dropped the bottle and leaned forward to hold and kiss his friend. "You are, well, hilarious, you know that? Nobody in the world ever made me laugh like you do." He rubbed his nose back and forth on Romano's, tickling him with his messy hair like a doting parent does to a newborn.

"Chigi! What are you laughing at?"

"There are no wild animals out here, wanker. Nothing dangerous, anyway, just rabbits and birds. They won't hurt you." He stroked Romano's hair gently with his clean hand, trying to calm him down, occasionally still chuckling a little. "Calm down; it will be all right." Romano nodded and reached up to hold him. "Are you sure you still want to let me – er –?" He let the thought trail off, raising an eyebrow.

"Sure; it'll make a change of pace, I guess."

…

Afterwards, they dressed in sweatpants and sat near the fire again. England sat tailor-fashion, and Romano nestled in the little space between his legs, leaning back against his strong friend. "I love to look at fire," the blond murmured.

"So does the albino potato. He says it's mysterious."

England considered. "He's right. I used to use fire a lot in my magic – which I don't really do much of, anymore – and it was always very mesmerizing."

"You and your mystic shit."

"Don't scoff. My 'mystic shit' may save your bacon someday."

"Hm, well, maybe." He leaned back against his friend and reached a hand up backwards to run through the fair hair. England leaned forward and kissed him under the ear. "But...yeah. Fire is mysterious and I like it too."

"I'll tell Gilbert you agree with him, then. He'll like that."

"Dammit. I'll never hear the end of it."

They snuggled for a few more minutes, staring into the flames, and Romano thought he saw a bird flying through the dark on the other side of the fire. "What kinds of birds fly around at night?" he asked, pointing to where he'd seen it. "Owls?"

"Well, there are some owls around, but I think that was probably a bat."

"A bat?" Romano squeaked.

"Shh, don't – high-pitched noises attract them." England couldn't keep the laughter out of his voice, but Romano turned and buried his face against his friend's chest.

"I want to go into the tent now," he said in a tiny voice.

"Yes, all right, come on, city boy. We need to move the air mattress inside first."

When this was done, England directed Romano inside. "I've got to douse the fire. I'll be inside in a minute."

Romano stepped inside, feeling his hair for accidental bats, and when he was satisfied that he was bat-free, pulled himself into a sleeping bag. He could hear his friend moving around outside and eventually saw the firelight die down. "Hey, bastard," he called. "Where are the pillows?"

A second's pause, then: "Bollocks! I knew I forgot something. Damn, I'm sorry, Romano. Hang on a second." He came into the tent.

"Everything done out there?"

"Yes, it's all done." England zipped up the tent flap and crawled over into his own sleeping bag. "I'm really sorry about the pillows. Do you want me to make a pillow out of our spare clothes or something? I can live without one."

"No, that's all right. I'll deal with it."

"Well, then, good night." England leaned over and gave Romano a little kiss.

"Sleep well."

Ten seconds later Romano started tossing and turning.

"What's the matter, git?"

"I'm, I'm not used to being so constricted. This sleeping bag is like a mummy case. I don't have enough room to move around."

"You can unzip it, and then one side will be open."

"Cheh, yeah, but then I'll get cold, bastard."

There was a slight pause, and when England spoke next, Romano could hear the indulgent amusement in his voice. "Do you want to zip our sleeping bags together to make one big one? Would that make you more comfortable?"

Romano's face burned, but he agreed.

The island nation made short work of combining the two sleeping bags. They slipped inside and cuddled close almost reflexively. England reached out his arm and Romano gratefully rested his head on it.

"Good night, _mio demone_."

" _Buona notte, mio angelo_."

…

A few hours later they both awoke to find the air mattress had gone flat and they were resting on the hard ground. "Bloody hell."

"What time is it, bastard?"

"Maybe one? Or a little after. Hang on, I have some blankets in the car; we can put them underneath us." England stepped out to the car and returned with a few thick blankets. They readjusted their sleeping space and lay down again.

"Do you ever find it hard to sleep when you're camping?" Romano wondered.

"Not before today!" The island nation sighed. "We must have gotten a puncture in the air mattress when we moved it in here."

"Whatever, let's just go back to sleep; I'm tired."

"Right, see you in the morning."

…

The sun had risen, weak; Romano stretched and slipped out of the sleeping bag gently, so as not to awaken the snoring England. The tent was big enough for him to stand up fully, so he stretched, moved to the flap, and unzipped it to get a peaceful glimpse of the moor in the morning light.

What he saw was not peaceful at all. "Chigi! Hey, bastard, sheep are eating our food!"

England had sat bolt upright at the yell. "What?"

Romano backed into the tent and zipped the flap securely. "There are some sheep out there, eating the food in those bags!"

"Bloody hell." The blond scrubbed a hand over his face. "I left the food out there? How stupid. You really are a distraction!" He got up and went out of the tent, shooing the sheep away gently. They left, but there was no food remaining that hadn't been mauled already. "Damn, now we have nothing to eat. They got into everything _._ " He sat on the ground, put his head in his hands, and groaned. "How stupid."

"Don't feel bad. It was actually kind of funny," Romano admitted, from the safety of the tent.

"Come on out. The sheep are gone. Let's talk about what we want to do next. I mean, at this point, we have no air mattress and no food. We could go buy more, or we could go back home."

The Italian came out of the tent. "You want my honest opinion?"

"Of course. Don't try to make some personal sacrifice just to appease me."

"Wouldn't dream of it, bastard." This made England laugh, and he looked up – only to be hit in the face with a pinecone.

"What the hell? Did you just throw a pinecone at me?"

Romano looked around nervously. "No. I don't even – " Whack! Another pinecone hit the ground nearby. They looked up into the canopy of trees and saw pinecones beginning to bounce all around them.

"Bloody hell. It's those stupid squirrels. They're jumping around and knocking the pinecones off the trees." The island nation turned to his friend. "I really hope you were going to say 'let's leave.' Were you?"

"Cheh, yes, of course I was. I like it here, but you know I'm not desperate for nature shit."

"Good. Let's pack up and get out of here before I get hit again."

The two made short work of breaking camp and stuffing everything randomly into England's car. "Want to stop for breakfast somewhere?"

"Sure, bastard. Someplace with good coffee."

…

By the time they'd gotten back to London, Romano had recovered his equanimity. "I'm definitely putting camping on my list of things to do with you in future, bastard," he snarked.

"Shut it, wanker."

…

 _Inspired by the worst camping trip ever...17 hours away from home, including the travel time. No sheep ate our food, but otherwise…dammit._


	50. Film Festival

**Film Festival.**

"I'm glad we're doing this. We haven't been on a trip together for such a long time. I don't know why you keep blowing me off when I suggest trips, anyway. Sometimes you can be such a git _._ "

"Cheh. I'm just too lazy to travel, I guess."

"That sounds about right." England punched Romano in the arm.

"Ow. Knock it off, bastard."

They had just arrived at a film festival in New York. Not a preferred destination for either of them, but all the films they were scheduled to see were favorites of one or both of them. Romano in particular was pleased because all the films they wanted to see would be shown consecutively in the same theatre, so they wouldn't have to go running all over the place to find the next showing. They found their seats and sat down. England had suggested they not start snacking too early, which had seemed like a very good idea. They'd get something to eat later.

"Hey, look! There's America!" The blond pointed across the theatre, and yes, it was indeed his former colony, all alone, slurping on a gigantic soda and carrying an enormous bucket of popcorn. "It's only eight in the morning! He's going to die of heart failure one of these days."

"Is he alone, or does he have a date?"

"I don't see anybody with him."

"Did – did you ever tell him we were, were dating, bastard?" Romano twisted his fingers together nervously.

England looked back at him. "You're so bloody cute when you talk about this stuff," he smirked, ruffling his friend's hair.

"Shut up, dammit." Romano fixed his hair.

"I didn't tell him, but then, he probably knows. I mean, it's been a long time since we started seeing each other. Somebody must have said something to him by now."

"But he never mentioned it to you?"

"Why would he? Unless he wants to know what you're like in bed, or something…hahaha…ow! Stop punching me."

"The movie's starting. Shut up."

The first movie was the all-American classic 'Some Like it Hot.' Romano had never seen this movie but England loved it, so he was looking forward to it, even though the mob would be appearing. But apparently it was a very funny movie.

During the pivotal murder scene, he reached out and squeezed his friend's hand; England held it comfortingly, rubbing his thumb over its back. Romano relaxed a little.

When the two leads first appeared in drag, he let out an audible snort. " _Chigi!_ Is that the best they could do?" he whispered to England.

"Give them a break. They're both very manly guys. How do you think we would look, if we suddenly had to dress up in drag to get out of town?"

This made them both laugh pretty hard, although they kept the noise down to avoid irritating the viewers around them. "Bastard. You'd never get me in a dress."

"You're right," England whispered back, pointing at the screen. "You'd make a worse-looking woman than they do." He grinned in the dark, slightly maliciously.

"Want to bet? I'd make a damn convincing woman! And you know it."

"Rubbish."

"I'd make a better woman than you would, bastard."

"Prove it."

Then they both started laughing again, this time a little more out of control, and some of the people near them gave them nasty looks. Romano abruptly let go of England's hand, which he had still been holding, and they watched most of the rest of the movie calmly.

…

"That was pretty good, bastard. Better than I'd expected." Romano stood up and stretched during the break.

"You just don't trust me. You should know I wouldn't pick a stupid movie!"

"I know you wouldn't do it intentionally, but maybe our tastes are different."

"Maybe. Whatever. Sit down, git. Or do you want America to see you? Maybe he'll come over and chat with us? Would you like that?" He poked Romano in the stomach.

The half-nation sat down abruptly – but it was too late. America had, in fact, seen him, while on his way back from the concession stand with a bagful of candy. They saw him turn to look towards them, saw him nod at Romano with a half-smile, and then realize England was there, too. He frowned, wrinkling his nose a little in confusion, but then kept walking to his seat as the lights dimmed for the next showing.

"What the hell was all that about?"

"Ah, just ignore him."

"Is it possible he really doesn't know about us? That was a very funny look he gave us."

"Who cares? Just sit down and shut it!"

This second movie was 'The Scarlet Pimpernel.' England had also chosen this movie, because it showed the English being very noble, and the frogs being ridiculous, noisy, inept and dirty. Chauvelin in particular irritated him, and he loved to watch the Scarlet Pimpernel defeat him.

"Nice costumes," Romano offered after a while, laying his head on England's shoulder companionably.

"Not quite accurate," came the whispered reply, "but good enough for the movies." He took Romano's hand.

"Were the French really this – this – like this?" Romano finally wondered, an hour later.

"Still are," England snorted. "But, yes. Not everyone in Britain was as smooth and polished as Sir Percy, either, though."

"Cheh, I get it." Romano did appreciate this film, showing the English in such a good light. It had nothing to do with the fact that France was a perverted bastard and friends with Spain.

…

"Again, you made a good choice," he said to his friend, who stood up to stretch. "So we had a funny movie and a historical one."

"What's up next?"

"My choice – 'Sunset Boulevard.'"

"I don't even know that movie. Heard of it, but don't know it. What's it about?"

"Wait and see, bastard," and then both of them looked up to see America looming over them. Surprisingly, they'd both forgotten about him.

"Hey, you guys! You came all the way to New York just for the film festival?"

"What of it, git? Good films are good films no matter where they're shown."

"Haha, yeah, I know. I'm just surprised to see you both. Did you pick out these movies on purpose or are you just going to stick around and watch whatever they're showing? I just chose a room at random and I'm sticking around until all the films are done for today."

Oh. Lucky them.

The lights began to go down. "Whoops! Gotta get back to my seat. Okay? I'll talk to you guys later, see ya!" America scooted back to the other side of the theatre.

"Dammit."

This movie was interesting, but very dark. Romano liked film noir, and sat holding England's hand, snuggled up against his shoulder again, occasionally exchanging murmured commentary with his friend. Every now and then England would turn his head so that his lips moved through Romano's hair, and give him a gentle kiss.

…

"Bloody hell. That was a really intense movie." He let go of Romano's hand and sat up straight.

"Not everything in life is going to be all happy sparkly unicorn shit, you know."

"I know. And it was a good one; it really makes you think about things. How little things can lead to big consequences."

"And that you should avoid crazy old ladies, too, bastard." They chuckled a bit before realizing that you-know-who was back, with another perplexed look on his face. He sat on the arm of England's chair.

"So how did you guys decide to come here together, anyway?" America asked.

"I don't get your question, bastard. We wanted to come to the film festival, so we did!"

"I didn't realize you were such a film buff, Romano, that's all. I know Iggy has a serious thing for American movies, though." England blushed, and America and Romano poked him in opposite arms.

"Shut it, both of you gits." He crossed his arms defiantly.

"I guess if you let him make your social plans you're going to get roped into this stuff." America lifted his bag of candy and offered it to them. "Want some?"

"Uh, no thanks, bastard. I need some real food before I can start in on the candy."

"Oh, come on, Romano, if we split one candy bar it won't kill us. Pick something."

Romano dipped his hand into the bag and pulled out a Caramello. "Oh. Yes," he breathed, with a rising blush, instantly distracted by all the ways melted caramel could be enjoyed. Although in a movie theatre it might be difficult…

"Caramel is good," England said. "Do you like it? Or do you want to pick something else?"

"Yes, of course I like it, dammit. Let's just save it for when the movie starts," he grumbled, rubbing his forehead as if with a headache.

"Are you all right? You look overheated." America's voice sounded legitimately concerned. "Should I ask them to turn on the air conditioning?"

"Chigi! I'll be all right, just don't worry about it, okay, bastard?" He looked up at America, face still quite red. "But – but thanks for offering, though."

England took the wrapped candy bar from Romano's unresisting fingers. Then the lights went down.

"Yeah, gotta go again," America sighed. "Every time we start talking, a new movie starts!"

"It's a film festival, you idiot, what do you expect?" England poked him in the stomach. "Go back to your seat."

"Yeah, okay! Later!" America strode away.

There was a very short silence while the opening credits for 'On the Town' rolled. Then: "Give me some candy, bastard."

They shared the Caramello quietly while they watched the musical. When England began to clean off his sticky fingers, Romano grabbed his hand and quietly licked and sucked all the remaining candy from each finger. He could feel his friend squirming in his seat, clenching his other fist in his lap, making tiny, tiny moans. When he finished, and let go of the blond's hand, England immediately slid that hand between his friend's thighs and began stroking up and down suggestively.

"Hey, before you start that, you need to clean off my fingers," Romano breathed, and offered his hand.

While England slowly cleaned the molten caramel off Romano's long warm fingers with his tongue, neither of them paid any attention to the movie at all. Romano just groaned and gripped his friend's other hand tightly. They sat together in the dark, mostly ignoring the rest of the movie, focused on the feeling of each other's hands, the proximity of each other's body. When he'd finished, England laid his head on Romano's shoulder, for a change, and the brunet played with his fingers, kissing, sucking and fondling, while he occasionally turned and nuzzled the island nation's messy hair.

…

The lights came back up; patrons stood to stretch. "I need the rest room," England muttered darkly. "Let me out of here."

"Yeah, I know, bastard, me too." They got up, checking to make sure they had their ticket stubs, and went to the men's room together. It was quite crowded and noisy in there, so they didn't linger.

"Do you want to get anything to eat?"

"Ah, let's skip it; there are only two more movies, and then we can go out for a nicer dinner? Movie food is shit," Romano laughed.

"All right. Let's get back to our seats before they start the next movie. What's this one anyway?"

"'Silverado.' A Western."

"You Italians sure love your Westerns, don't you? Is it good?"

"It's very good, dammit! Why would I have picked it otherwise?" He frowned at his friend.

"Never mind, just, whatever." They got back to their seats to find America sitting in the chair next to England's.

"What are you doing over here, bastard?"

"Well, I thought it would save time if I didn't have to keep crossing the room to talk to you guys! I traded my ticket to the guy next to you. My seat was better anyway."

They looked at each other; then the island nation raised his eyebrows in resignation. Romano just snorted.

"Hey, you feeling better?" America then asked.

"I'll be fine, bastard. Hey, you know, I remember you took Belgium to the Tokyo film festival. You go to these a lot?"

"Yeah! I love the movies. It's good escapism, nice to get away from the craziness of the real world."

"In other words you can't handle reality, wanker?"

"Aw, Iggy, that's not what I'm saying at all. It's just fun to escape into someone else's reality for a while."

Romano considered this. "That's a pretty effective way of putting it. I'm surprised."

England snickered. "Score one for America…first time anybody's called him effective in years."

"Hey, I'm always heroically effective!" The lights started to go down. "Oh, good. I love Westerns."

"Shut it. Just watch the movie!" England hissed.

…

England, stuck between these two, was having an extremely difficult time of things. On the one hand, America kept leaning over to make whispered commentary on the movie…a lot of whispered commentary…it could even be called babbling, and was somewhat distracting. On the other hand, because he knew the blond could not react when America was on his other side, Romano was smirking, teasing him surreptitiously with his fingers, with little secret kisses, with little sexy murmurs into his ear... _seriously_ distracting. England tried squeezing his hand in warning, but it only served to increase Romano's carryings-on.

Finally he had to hiss at him directly. "Please stop! Or I'll make you sit in the middle next time!" He added an elbow jab for emphasis.

Romano let go and stopped immediately. America hadn't seemed to notice a thing.

…

"We're doing all right," England admitted when the movie was over. "So far, not a bad movie in the bunch. It is hard to concentrate with you two – talking – to me all the time during the movie, though. Could you please stop?" he asked, squeezing Romano's hand warningly, where America could not see.

"Sure, no problem, Iggy. Hey, maybe I should sit in the middle?"

"What?" both the others chorused. "No, that won't work," Romano pointed out quickly, "because then you'd be talking to both of us, and distracting us both. At least this way you can limit your distractions to England."

"Thanks a lot, wanker," England snarled.

"Anytime, bastard," his friend replied with a laugh.

"You guys want any more candy? I think there are a couple left." America lifted the bag.

"Not me, thanks," the island nation quickly said. If he and Romano started eating caramel again…with America right next to him…argh, he didn't even like to let that idea continue.

But then Romano said, "Sure, if you have another caramel one in there."

England gave him an alarmed look and stammered, "But – but you – you'll, you'll ruin your appetite for dinner!" he beamed, with the air of having successfully negotiated a tricky situation. Romano laughed a little, too.

"Well, there is another Caramello in here," America said dubiously. "Do you want it?"

"Yes please, but I'll save it for later, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind a bit, you bloody bastard," England growled. Romano just chuckled at this and put the candy bar in his coat pocket.

"Whoa! Iggy, that's pretty harsh!"

"He deserves it." The island nation crossed his arms in a huff and focused on the blank screen, resolutely ignoring all of Romano's goads and America's reproaches.

America finally sat back in his chair and sighed. "What's the last movie, anyway?"

"'The Sting.' A classic slice of Americana. I can't believe you didn't know that." England had finally felt ready to rejoin the conversation. He kept away from Romano, though, just to be safe.

"Excuse me?" A lady behind them tapped Romano on the shoulder. "It's not going to be 'The Sting.' There was some problem. They're going to show 'How to Steal a Million,' instead."

Romano thanked her nicely and turned back to his friends. "Do you bastards know that movie? I've never even heard of it."

"It's a screwball comedy caper," England replied, still somewhat withdrawn. "The glorious Peter O'Toole and the glamorous Audrey Hepburn."

"Oh. I'm in," Romano said easily. "I love screwball comedy, bastards."

"You're kidding!" Both the others turned to look at him.

"What are you two looking at? What's wrong with screwball comedy?"

"Nothing! I like it too," America said.

"So do I. I just never pegged you as that type."

"I guess we really don't know Romano all that well, do we, Iggy?"

Romano bit his lip and England shrugged. "Guess not," the island nation finally managed, as the lights began to go down.

…

Romano was a little worried about England's harsh reactions to his earlier taunts, so he settled back to enjoy the movie with no teasing at all. After a little while, he felt his friend's hand come cautiously stealing towards him, and he took it and laced their fingers together with a relieved smile that was lost in the dark.

…

When the lights came on, America turned to his friends with a grin. "Uh –" He froze.

"'Uh' what?" Then England suddenly realized he and Romano were still holding hands, and that this was where America's gaze had wandered. He dropped Romano's hand like a hot potato, and the brunet turned away, covering his mouth with his hand.

"You – you guys are dating?"

"You don't have to yell it all over the auditorium, you idiot," Romano hissed.

"Yes, we're dating," England, more resigned, managed to say in a calmer voice. "Is that some kind of problem?" He looked at America, who still hadn't moved, who was still staring at the place where their joined hands had been.

"That's – that's great! _"_ he yelled, surprising them both.

"Please stop shouting, America. It's not heroic to embarrass your friends."

The hero got a grip and spoke in a lower tone. "Sorry, Iggy. Sorry, Romano. But still – that really is awesome!"

"Yeah, we know, bastard, that's why we're doing it."

"Haha, wait until I tell France!"

Romano and England looked at each other in astonishment. "Francy-pants already knows," England finally said.

"Really? How about Spain?"

"Yeah, the tomato bastard knows." Romano sighed and rested his chin in his hand, elbow propped resignedly on the chair arm.

"How come I'm the last to know?" America whined.

"How the bloody hell should I know? Don't you pay attention to anything? We've been dating for months!"

"Well, be fair, bastard, we haven't been shouting it from the rooftops."

America looked at Romano in puzzlement. "How come you still call him a bastard if he's your boyfriend?"

This made both the others laugh. "Romano will never stop saying that. I don't mind it. But we've got to get out of here." Almost everyone else had left the theatre. The three of them stood up and walked outside.

"You guys want to go out for a burger?" America asked, then: "I really can't believe you two are going out."

"Shut it, all right, wanker? We've got dinner plans, but thanks for asking."

"We'll see you at the next meeting, or something," Romano added.

"Yeah, all right. Have a great night. It was so cool to see you both!" America turned and walked away, waving.

As soon as he was out of range, they began laughing with the release of tension, and after a moment England pulled his friend close for a passionate kiss. "You're going to pay for what you did in there," he growled against Romano's lips.

Romano threaded his fingers into the blond hair. "Can't wait. Let's go."


	51. Amusement Park, Chapter 1

_This whole arc was an attempt to write both Romano and England more tsundere than I had previously been doing._

 _..._

 **Amusement Park, Chapter 1.**

The house phone rang; Romano, in the kitchen, picked it up. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me. How are you?" England's voice was always so warm and cheerful over the phone.

"Hah, could be better. My brother and the potato bastard are here." Romano picked up his coffee cup and walked out of the kitchen into the spacious living room, where the other two sat with their coffee. Veneziano focused on his brother, while Germany seemed to be interested in the newspaper TV listings. They'd just finished a tasty meal of garlic bread and pasta with tomato sauce, but this had been tainted for Romano by the presence of his brother's macho boyfriend.

"Do you need to go? Call me back later."

"No, that's all right, bastard, we were just talking about you. Wanted to ask you something."

"You were talking about me. _Great._ "

"Well, sort of. Not like that. Japan invited them over for a weekend, including a day at some fancy amusement park, and now the bastard can't go, but those two are going to go anyway. They wondered if we wanted to join them, since they have extra tickets." Romano tried to put a little venom into his voice. A day at an amusement park with _Veneziano and the potato bastard!_ Argh! But he knew his brother was paying close attention, so he had to at least ask nicely _._

"Sure, I don't mind. Amusement parks are usually fun, and I've never been to one in Japan yet."

" _Chigi!_ "

"What? Didn't you just invite me, git? You don't want me to go?"

Romano couldn't speak his mind with the other two in the room. "Grr." He paced a little, drinking his coffee, trying not to look at his idiot brother's beaming, attentive smile. "Oh, for fuck's sake…dammit…"

"You don't want to go. Is that it?"

"Yes, that's right, bastard," he growled.

"Well then, why the bloody hell did you even bother asking me?"

"Be-because, they, I – oh, dammit, never mind."

"Because they're sitting right there waiting for you to ask, yeah?"

"Yeah," Romano muttered, kicking the sofa. "Son of a bitch."

"Well, come on, though. I mean, what's the harm in going? It could be fun. We haven't been to Japan together yet, which would be nice. They, er, they don't want us to share a hotel room with them, do they?" He snickered.

Romano could feel his blush spiking into the danger zone. "Please just shut up about that stuff!" he roared into the phone. Then he set down the coffee cup and rubbed his hand over his face. "Please."

"Are you blushing? Of course you are, git."

"Never mind! I don't want to talk to you, bastard!" Romano hung up the phone abruptly and threw it on the table. The battery cover popped off, so Veneziano picked it up and put it back on.

Germany was obviously fighting some acid commentary, if the twitching of the newspaper was anything to go by, but his brother looked at Romano artlessly. "Ve, did England say he would go to Japan with us or not?"

Romano just growled again and left the room, leaving the phone on the table.

A moment later the telephone rang again. "I'm not answering that!" came a hoarse yell from the kitchen.

"Hello, Italy Veneziano speaking! Ve, England, hello! How are you? Yes, that's right! We certainly are…No, no; we're all really looking forward to it…" Here, Veneziano looked towards the kitchen doubtfully. "Well, maybe not Romano. He's pretty pissed off right now! What did you say to him, ve?"

Romano stormed out of the kitchen and wrenched the phone away from his brother. "Don't ask stupid questions, idiot," he hissed to Veneziano, and raised the phone to his ear. "Yes! What do you want?"

"What do _I_ want? I wanted to talk to you, wanker! What do you think I wanted?"

"Don't – start. Just – all right, hold on a second." He put his hand over the phone. "I'm taking the phone up to my room," he announced to the other two, "and I will come back down and let you know what has been decided. Understood?"

"Understood, _fratello_ ," Veneziano smiled. Germany continued to ignore him, hiding behind the still-shaking newspaper.

Romano ran up the steps to his room and slammed the door shut. "All right, I'm here. Now listen –" he started, but England interrupted.

"What the hell's the matter with you? I don't think I've ever heard you this – this testy. And that's saying something," he laughed.

"Dammit, those bastards drive me right up the fucking wall."

"Are you alone right now?"

"Yes, I brought the phone up to my room. Now, talk to me, but do – not – start – any – stupid – talk! Got that?"

"I never talk stupid," England said hotly, his grammar belying his statement. "There's no reason for you to get stroppy with _me_."

"England!" After Romano had yelled that, he felt surprisingly calmer. "All right. I'm calm now. Are you all right to talk?"

" _Me?_ I was perfectly fine until you started hollering at me, you bloody wanker!"

Romano took a deep breath. Then another. "I'm going to hang up now," he said.

"What the _fuck_ is –" England's voice was cut off as Romano hung up.

He pressed the phone button on and off a few times to keep the line busy, to prevent any incoming calls. This might have been a successful tactic if his cell phone hadn't been sitting right next to him on the nightstand. It eventually rang with the blond's cheery special ringtone. "Dammit!"

Romano threw the house phone down on the bed and picked up the cell, taking a deep breath before answering. He took a second to look at the cute picture of his boyfriend on the phone in hopes that it would help him relax. Right. He decided to try and pretend none of the previous conversations had happened. They might actually get through the telephone call that way. "Hello? Italy Romano speaking."

There was a snort from the other end of the phone, then: "Hi, Romano. It's me, England. Are you busy right now?"

Sounded like he had decided to play along. Good. "No, not busy at all, bastard," he said with a smile, softening his voice. "How have you been?"

Was that growling he heard? "Apart from a short and weirdly disturbing phone argument with my boyfriend, there has been nothing of note to report," the blond finally said. "And you?"

"Everything's fine, now that I'm alone and talking to you," he replied simply. "Sorry about before."

"Yeah, me too." There was a moment of embarrassed silence before England took up the previous conversation's thread again. "Do you – er – want to talk about this amusement park thing or not?" His voice was soft and almost fearful.

Romano lay back on the bed. "Yes, we might as well, dammit. Do you really want to go?"

"Like I said, I don't mind. I always like traveling with you, so…why don't we go and make the best of it?"

"But – with them? I mean, I can deal with Veneziano, but traveling with the _potato bastard_? Voluntarily?"

"He makes your brother happy, doesn't he?"

Silence while Romano tried to muster up the courage to admit the truth of this statement.

"How would you feel if Veneziano told you, 'You can go, but not that wanker England'?" the island nation continued.

"Right, like my brother would ever say 'wanker.'"

"Don't be an arse again, or I'll hang up on you," England cautioned irritably.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. I guess you're right." They spent another moment not speaking before he caved. "Sure. Let's go to Japan with them and visit an amusement park. Worst case we can always wander off on our own, right?" He gave England the dates and the name of the hotel, and they arranged to meet in Veneziano's hotel room. That way Romano could have some companionship while he waited for England to arrive.

When England had all the information written down and had checked his calendar, he suggested, "Who knows? Maybe you'll get to be better friends with Germany as a result of this trip."

 _"Chigi!"_


	52. Amusement Park, Chapter 2

**Amusement Park, Chapter 2.**

Two weeks later, the Italies and Germany had settled into their Japanese hotel rooms. The brothers had played a halfhearted game of poker for a while, but Romano became too distracted about his friend and couldn't concentrate. Germany lay on the hotel bed, trying to read a Japanese periodical, occasionally commenting on the language or the content.

"I'm going back to my room," Romano finally said. "I'm tired and want to get some sleep before tomorrow."

"Ve, what if England had some trouble?"

"Well, he does have my cell number, so…he probably would have called, if there were any problems. He might just have fallen asleep in the room."

"He should be fine," Germany put in, without looking up from his magazine. "Just let us know if anything goes wrong, yes?"

"Yes, all right, macho potato," he scoffed, opening the door to leave…and then he remembered what England had said about Veneziano's happiness. "See you both tomorrow morning," he said in a marginally less hostile tone, shutting the hotel room door quietly.

In the room he and England would be sharing – yep, the island nation was lying fully-clothed on the bed, snoring deeply. Romano crossed to the side of the bed in irritation, wondering why England hadn't bothered to come to the other room, but then his look turned to a soft smile as he watched his friend. He really was so fucking cute when he was asleep, with his hair sticking out like the fluff on a baby bird. Romano reached out a hand and brushed the bangs off England's face. The blond smiled a little, but didn't wake up. Ah, might as well let him rest. He leaned close and gave him a gentle goodnight kiss on the forehead.

Romano then washed up and changed into his sweatpants for bed. Hmm. It would be difficult to get a sleeping England under the covers, but if he stayed on top of the bed, he'd get cold. The brunet found a spare blanket and covered his friend with it, moving to slide himself under the bedcovers on the other side. "Good night, _mio caro_ ," he whispered, but of course the other didn't respond.

…

Several hours later, England awoke quite disoriented, wondering why he was still fully-dressed, and where he was. Then he looked up and saw Romano next to him, his face peaceful in repose, and remembered. He slipped out of the bed to change into pajamas and wash up.

When he came back, sliding under the proper covers, he pressed a sweet little kiss to Romano's lips. The Italian opened his eyes just a bit, smiling, and then drifted off again. England rolled over happily and sank back into sleep as well.

…

"Hey, good morning, sunshine," Romano said, laughing a little. "Did you sleep well?"

"Eh," England said, trying to wake up. "Yeah. Come here." He drew Romano into the warm circle of his arms. "Missed you so much," he murmured, nuzzling his friend's face sleepily, stroking his hair, his shoulders, tangling their feet together under the covers.

"Me too," the brunet whispered, kissing him. "Six weeks is too damn long to be apart." England ran his hands lightly down Romano's back, just barely sliding them into the waistband of his sweatpants. "Uh, _much_ too long." He pressed a little closer, kissing more intently, and then someone knocked on the door. They sprang apart guiltily. "Dammit."

"Probably only your brother, right?" England yawned and burrowed back under the covers.

"Yes, the idiot." Romano got up and opened the door a crack. "What?" he growled, upon seeing the beaming, alert Veneziano, dressed spiffily in his blue military uniform, trying to salute and failing. Not that Romano was any better at it.

"Just wanted to make sure everything was all right with England, ve!"

"Yes, it's fine. We just woke up, so –"

"That's all right, _fratello_! Me and Germany are going to have some breakfast, but you can join us whenever you're ready. We always have a very leisurely breakfast when we're traveling together, because the day can get so hectic, ve. So, just come down to the hotel restaurant when you're dressed, all right? We'll order a lot of different food so you can just sit down and eat."

"We'll be down in a few minutes, idiot. Get some coffee. A lot of coffee."

"Okay! Take your time. Just be down in time to eat and then leave by nine, okay? Ve, that gives you almost a whole hour!"

"Right!" Romano slammed the door shut, face instantly aflame.

"A whole hour?" England, having overheard the entire exchange, grinned and stretched. "Mm, come back to bed, then, _mio demone_ ," he purred seductively.

"No! A whole hour to get up, get ready, go downstairs _and_ have breakfast! So there's not enough time for – for anything else." Romano moved to the dresser, still blushing, not looking at his friend.

"You're too bloody uptight about this. You really think they'd leave without us?" But England did get out of the bed and then stretched again. "I'm going to take a shower," he announced, since Romano was rummaging around for something to wear and hadn't answered him.

"You don't have _time!"_

"For crying out loud, of course I have time. It takes me five minutes to shower and five minutes to get dressed. Five more minutes to get to the restaurant and I'm all set! What's the problem?" He scowled at his friend, who had already changed out of his sweatpants and was pulling on a pair of black jeans over his boxers.

"Fine, it's your funeral, bastard. If we leave for the park without you, don't come crying to me."

England gave a short, sharp laugh. "Yeah, _you'd_ do that, wouldn't you? Well, your brother and Germany wouldn't be such wankers. Go. I'll be down when I'm dressed." He went into the bathroom and slammed the door, leaving Romano to finish getting dressed all alone.

"Dammit! How can I brush my teeth?" Romano then snarled under his breath. But if he went into the bathroom now – and England was in the shower – "Hey, bastard!"

The bathroom door opened and England, still dressed in his pajamas, toothbrush in mouth, stuck his scruffy head out. "What now?" he mumbled.

"Let me come in and wash up, dammit." He pushed past his friend into the bathroom. England came out and sat on the bed, fuming and brushing his teeth.

Two minutes later Romano came out, clean and smirking. "There you go, bastard, the bathroom's all yours."

"Git." England went back in and slammed the door again _,_ and Romano cheerfully left for the hotel restaurant.

…

Japanese breakfast was bizarre _._ And the coffee was kind of unusual, too. Romano tried to compensate by drinking several extra cups of it while he fidgeted irritably and looked over at the door for England every few minutes. He checked his watch again. Huh, thirteen minutes already; he was going to give his friend an earful if he took longer than the promised fifteen! Veneziano and Germany had been happily eating and talking the entire time and it was already making him cranky. Perhaps _he_ hadn't had enough sleep? Of course, those two always made him cranky. He ate a little bit more, listlessly, drinking more coffee too.

"Ve, there he is," his brother finally announced. The island nation, hair a little damp, started to slouch towards their table, still looking a little sleepy and rumpled, hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Fucking adorable bastard. Romano checked his watch again. Fifteen minutes right on the dot. Dammit _._

"Good morning, England, ve! That's a very nice sweater you're wearing!"

"It is rather interesting," Germany admitted. The sweater in question was knit in wide stripes of toxic waste green and dark grey, and appeared to be made of some extremely fuzzy yarn. Veneziano put out a hand and stroked the sleeve as England moved to sit down. Romano poured England a cup of coffee immediately, knowing how zoned he always was when first waking up.

"I almost feel dowdy next to you three," Germany continued. He was wearing his habitual fatigues, which completely lacked style, and his military cap sat on the breakfast table. Romano snorted. He knew _he_ looked good – ever since England had once told him how good he looked in darker colors, he'd been trending towards an all-black wardrobe, and today was no exception, with the black jeans and boots, dark blue t-shirt, and lightweight black silk jacket. How was it possible for the potato bastard to hang around with his idiot brother and not pick up _any_ style? Oblivious bastard.

Meanwhile, England drank the coffee gratefully but didn't speak yet. He stared vacantly at the table. "Fifteen minutes right to the second, bastard, you're good," Romano pointed out. The blond quirked a tiny little smile, but still didn't say anything or look at anyone. He drew a deep breath.

"So where did you get such an unusual sweater, ve? It feels so nice and furry!" Veneziano petted it again, which began to irritate Romano. He wanted to touch it, too; it really did look soft and super-fluffy, kind of like England's hair…but his friend was sitting opposite him, between his brother and the potato bastard, and he couldn't reach it without looking like a grabby idiot.

"If I'm not mistaken, the yarn is made of mohair?" Germany postulated, eying it, but not touching.

England nodded subtly and finished the coffee, yawning again. Romano poured him another cup at once. "Don't expect a lot of high-class conversation, bastards. He's always a bit of a zombie until he gets some coffee in him." He tilted his head to the side, smiling affectionately at his sleepy friend, remembering other, cozier mornings together. Then he caught both Veneziano and Germany looking at him in surprise. Romano blushed and turned away, frowning.

For a while the other three nations just ate idly and watched England drink his coffee. Veneziano even checked his watch a few times. "This is fascinating," Germany eventually said. "I should study this under controlled lab conditions."

Before Romano could explode at that, England shook his head, trying to force himself awake. "Sorry. Is there any coffee? It would help me wake up faster." All three of the others stared at him. "What?" He recoiled a little.

"You've had two cups, bastard! Usually it only takes two cups!" Romano scowled again but nobody else was looking at him.

"Hotel coffee is always shite, everywhere in the world." England looked into the cup and then ran his hands through his hair. "I guess you've spoiled me with espresso, Romano," he grinned, blushing just a little. His friend fought not to smile back at him; he'd look like a sap. "Sorry. Talk to me; help me concentrate and wake up. Did you have a good trip?"

"Everything went as planned," Germany stated. "There were no hitches in the travel. And you?"

"Yes, it was all fine, just tiring, as always."

"Why do you get so sleepy in the mornings, England? Why not just go to bed earlier, ve?"

"It doesn't work that way for me, I just don't know why." He ate some of the things on the table absently, not really understanding what they were. He yawned again. This in turn made everyone else yawn.

Romano was getting irritated with all this sleepiness. "Dammit, will you just get a grip and wake up?"

"I'm doing my best, git. Hey, do you think there might be a real coffee shop on the way to the park?"

"Maybe. Maybe there will be one _at_ the park, ve? There are usually lots of different food stalls at amusement parks!"

"We can at least seek one out _en route_. Are we ready to go?" Germany stood up.

"Give me a few more minutes; I want to eat a little bit more. I haven't had much yet."

"Ah, don't worry about it, ve, England! We can try all the different foods at the park!"

England shrugged in defeat and rose, grabbing a steamed pork bun to eat on the way.

"I'm ready, bastards. This food is weird _."_

"Yes, Japan's food is quite different from European food, but it's always beneficial to experience the meals of a different culture. It broadens the horizons." Romano just huffed at this piece of potato bastard wisdom and got up from the table.

"So, England, ve, I asked you about your nice sweater but you were too sleepy to answer! It's so interesting, and Germany said it's made of mohair? What's mohair?"

"Mohair is the hair shorn from the Angora goat," England replied in his lecturing tone, as they walked out of the restaurant. "Kid mohair is shorn from very young goats, and that's what this yarn is made of. It's softer than the hair from the older goats." Romano stared at him in amazement. The island nation continued, "I knit this myself a while back, but I don't do much knitting any more, mostly just embroidery these days." Romano continued to stare, although both Veneziano and Germany seemed to take this in stride.

"May I pet it again, ve? It's so very fuzzy. I really like it!" They made their way towards the nearest train station, since they'd need to ride to get to the park.

"Thanks. Sure, pet it, whatever." He ate some of the pork bun as they walked, Veneziano fondling his sleeve.

"Germany, come and pet this sweater! It's so soft. Who would ever think goats could have such soft fur?"

"Technically goats have hair _,_ not fur. But I don't need to feel it, Italy," Germany responded calmly. He put his hands in his pockets. "I've felt mohair yarn before."

Good thing, too, Romano considered. He did not want the potato bastard petting his boyfriend!

"What about you, _fratello_? Or have you already seen this sweater before?"

"No, I haven't. I, I didn't know you could knit, dammit! Or do – do embroidery. That's really a nice-looking sweater!" He hung back a little; perhaps he'd be able to pet it if his brother and Germany weren't looking? Those two finally stepped forward a bit, out of earshot.

England blushed with pleasure. "Thanks, Romano." He looked at his friend's outfit with a smile. "Hey, you look kind of – of _dark_ today. Mysterious. Looks good." He finished off the pork bun, licking his fingers clean.

Now it was Romano's turn to blush. "Thanks, bastard."

"Now we just need to get you a tongue piercing." England nudged his friend with a smile.

"A tongue piercing. Right."

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with them!"

"How would you know? It's not like you have one."

"Aha, but I used to."

Romano stopped in his tracks. "You – had a – tongue piercing." He felt his breath growing shorter and lowered his voice. "You had a fucking _tongue piercing?_ When? _"_ He grabbed England by the upper arms to steady himself.

"Back in the '90s." England grinned and stuck out his tongue for his friend's inspection, pointing to the site. "Eh?" he said, pulling his tongue back in. "Right there."

"Son of a bitch." Romano's face felt about ten different shades of red. "Wh-what happened to it," he breathed weakly, dropping his arms and looking away.

"Took the barbell out for a world meeting, forgot, it healed up by the time I got back home. Didn't like it enough to get it done again. Hurt like hell."

"Yeah, well, then maybe I don't need to get one."

"Probably not. Your tongue's perfect as it is." England licked his lips slowly, grinning.

"Sh-shut up with that stuff," Romano whispered, still a bit discombobulated.

"Okay."

Veneziano and Germany had moved quite a way ahead of them, and the younger Italy was cuddled up to his big boyfriend as usual. Romano now scoffed, distracted by this. "Why does he always have to cling onto the potato bastard like a little girl? He looks so stupid, dammit."

"Who the hell cares? Let them. They're happy." England looked at Romano sidelong. "It would be cute if you clung to me like that," he pointed out. "Even if you let me cling to _you_ once in a while. But…I know…no hand-holding and shit in public…right?"

Romano blushed and looked down. It sounded pretty harsh when England said it in that venomous way. Still, at least he could take comfort in the fact that his friend had finally gotten the message and wouldn't be trying to make an idiot out of him in the streets of Japan.

"Yeah, I know," England continued in response to his silent reaction. "You don't want to talk about it. Fine, whatever." He walked a little faster. "It's always got to be about you, doesn't it, wanker?

"What the hell's your problem?"

"I don't know! Didn't you ever think it might actually be nice to be together like that?" England raked his hands through his hair. "I can't believe we're having this same damn discussion again. Forget I said anything. Just – don't talk to me for a little while." He shoved his hands into his pockets again and strode off. Romano hurried to catch up, but wisely didn't say anything.

They followed Germany and Veneziano to the train station in silence. Since this was a new geographic area for Romano, he used the time to study the different surroundings, the architecture and plants, the cars. Japan was so very different from Europe, in so many ways. He lost himself in a little daydream, idly wondering about the world, and how it had developed in such diverse pockets of civilization, how it might develop in the future.

England seemed to be lost in thought as well, though that might still have been anger. Dammit.

…

"Ve, I am just so excited, _fratello_! I love amusement parks, I really do. Don't you, Germany?" Veneziano bounced up and down on the train platform.

Germany cleared his throat as they found seats on the near-empty train. "I haven't been to an amusement park in a very long time, Italy. I suppose they are fine. It's just nice to be spending a relaxing day with you, a day away from work." The two of them sat on one side of the train, holding hands; Romano and England moved to the seats opposite them and sat. Not holding hands, of course.

"I like amusement parks," England offered. He seemed to have come out of his sulk. "There's always something different and interesting there. Right, Romano?"

"Uh," the half-nation responded noncommittally. He'd just realized that if he _had_ grabbed England in that goofy Veneziano way, it would have been the perfect opportunity to fondle the fuzzy sweater, which he'd still not yet been able to do! Now here they were on the train, sitting right opposite the idiot and the bastard, and there was no way he'd be able to run his hands across it without looking stupid. He snarled and crossed his arms.

"What the hell's the matter with you now?" the blond hissed. Romano just shook his head, looking at the floor.

Veneziano sat and stared at his brother with a big vague grin on his face. To avoid it, Romano looked around the train, then sort of over at England. Hmm. If he could lean over just a little – As he tried to nonchalantly lean closer to England, the island nation stretched and bent forward, resting his head on his knees. _Dammit._ "Don't go to sleep, bastard," he said, nudging England's knee with his own, sinking back into his seat in resignation, sighing.

"I'm not! But I don't want to forget about coffee either."

"Ve, I thought you were always a tea drinker!"

"I am, but…that's just for refreshment. It doesn't help me wake up. I think Romano's been giving me drugged espresso or something lately," he laughed. "I feel like I've become addicted to it." He stretched his feet out across the aisle, and then tried to touch his toes.

"Espresso can be very beneficial during long work days." Germany smiled.

Veneziano squeezed his boyfriend's arm. "You work too hard, Germany! You should take breaks more often."

"I can handle it, Italy. Not everyone can be as carefree as you are."

"Amen," snarled Romano at the same time England said, "That's so true." They looked at each other and laughed. Veneziano didn't seem to have noticed this little exchange.

"This is our train stop," the tall blond then announced. "England, are you awake? All right?"

"I'm fine. Romano?"

"Cheh, yes, I'm fine, bastard, just get off the damn train."

After they exited, they immediately spotted a coffee shop and made their way to it. "Where is this amusement park, anyway?" England asked, as they waited for their drinks.

Germany deciphered the map on the tickets. "It should be right around that corner." The four of them took their coffees outside to walk and drink.

"Ah, this is good coffee," England took a deep draught. "This is just what I needed."

"I agree, bastard. This is top-quality stuff."

"Oh! Look at all the people!" Veneziano had grabbed Germany's arm again.

"Make sure we stay together," Germany cautioned; "I have the tickets, and if we get separated it could be a problem."

"Yes, all right, bastard, we know." Maybe he _should_ hold England's hand. Then at least they wouldn't get separated. Except they were both holding coffees, and maybe that would make it more awkward. "Dammit."

"What now? You really are in rare form today, aren't you?" England asked, frowning a little.

"Ah, don't mind me; it's just my stupid brain." Romano finished his coffee and threw the cup into a nearby trash can. They got in line for the park…still not holding hands.

"Excuse me," a park attendant said, looking at the tickets that Germany had fanned out. "Those are VIP passes. You don't need to wait in line. Step through the blue door and you can enter right away."

"Whee!" Veneziano called out, leaping into the air, and they made their way into the park.

After they'd gotten through the gate, Veneziano and Germany moved off to the side of the path, holding their copy of the park map, and began studying it. "Hey, bastard, come here." Romano reached a hand up towards England's shoulder, intending to stroke it down his back and feel the yarn while the other two were distracted.

Apparently England had other ideas; his eyes lit up and he stepped forward to grab his friend around the waist.

"Chigi! What are you doing?" Romano slipped backwards out of England's reach, blushing, scowling.

"Damn it, I thought you changed your mind about – about the _public shit_?"

"No – no, I – oh, forget it."

"What are you trying to do to me today, anyway?"

"What do you mean, what am I trying to do? I'm not trying to do anything!" Well, except touch the sweater, but he didn't really think that was what England was talking about.

"Bloody hell, Romano. I haven't seen you in six weeks; we had a couple of nice kisses in – in bed, and now you've been fighting with me all morning! I've missed you, and yes I understand you don't like the public stuff, but – well, you could at least _act_ a little nicer! I feel like I've been battling you forever, and the day hasn't even really started yet!" England blew out a sigh and turned away from his friend, shoving his hand through his hair.

Oh.

"I –" he began, but then Veneziano came over and grabbed his arm. "Come on, _fratello_ , let's go ride on the Ferris wheel!" Romano allowed his brother to drag him off, following Germany, and it was only after about twenty steps that he realized England wasn't following them.

"Hey, wait up, Veneziano, let go of me. We'll catch up." He broke free of his brother's grip and ran back to where England still stood staring into the distance. "Uh…bastard?"

"What?"

"We, uh, we're going on the Ferris wheel…are you coming?" Maybe they could talk a little while they were on the ride? Shit, he hoped England wouldn't refuse to ride with him.

"Might as well." The blond kicked a nearby lamppost and stalked off after the others. Romano scurried to catch up. Dammit, today was shaping up to be a pretty miserable day.


	53. Amusement Park, Chapter 3

**Amusement Park, Chapter 3.**

Romano had finally caught up to England and they had almost drawn even with the other two, when he spotted the rest rooms. "Hey, bastards, hold on, I drank too much of that coffee. I'll be out in a minute."

"Ve, all right." Veneziano grabbed Germany's arm again, and they leaned against a sunny wall, smiling at each other.

"I'll come too, git." England followed his friend.

This early in the day, the rest room was deserted. As soon as the door had shut behind England he reached forward and yanked Romano back for a brutal kiss.

When they broke apart: "Wha – you – _what_?"

"Look." The blond kept his hands on Romano's arms. "I know you don't like the public stuff but it's driving me nuts. I really missed you. Will you at least let me be, be close to you, when we're alone?"

"In the rest room _,_ bastard?"

England spiked into anger and he slammed Romano up against the wall. "In the bloody rest room or anywhere else!" He pressed the front of his body against his friend and laced his hands into the dark hair with aggression.

Oh, yes…England had that pirate look on his face…Romano, blushing, felt strong sudden desire coursing through him. "Yes, dammit," he whispered, and subtly molded his body closer to his friend's, raising his arms to grab his shoulders, to pull him closer. England surged forward even further and kissed Romano fiercely, moaning a little in satisfaction.

"You make everything so bloody difficult," he muttered against Romano's lips after a moment.

"B-but you make it all so worthwhile, bastard," Romano returned, biting England's lips just a little. He felt his friend's aggression softening, felt England nestling against his body more sensuously, and slid his hands under the sweater to caress his back.

For a few moments there was no sound but their ragged breathing as they kissed intently. Then England got a grip on himself and pulled away. "This probably isn't the best place for this."

"You're kidding," Romano offered dryly, grabbing him again. After a few more breathless kisses he released England and nodded. "Yeah. The only place worse I can think of would be the ladies' room." England snorted.

When they'd recovered and used the facilities, they walked out into the sunshine again. Germany and Veneziano were nowhere to be seen. "Maybe they're in the _ladies' room_ ," England taunted.

Romano punched him. "No, there they are, over by the Ferris wheel. Guess they got tired of waiting?"

"It's not like we were in there all day. Maybe they realized we were going in there to make out."

The brunet blushed and backhanded him in the chest. "Dammit! We weren't going in there to make out!" he hissed.

"I was." He pulled Romano closer with an evil grin. Romano yanked himself away. "And I always get my way, eventually."

"Cheh. You just got lucky."

"Didn't you?"

"Bastard."

They finally caught up with the other two, who had held a place in line for them. "This Ferris wheel is a lot bigger than it looked from over there, ve."

Germany put a hand on Veneziano's shoulder. "It will be fine. You know that the rides are tested for safety every morning. If there had been a problem it would not be open to the public."

"Still, that's a fucking huge Ferris wheel," Romano admitted.

"Don't tell me you're, er, scared of heights, git." Here, England looked away with a strange expression on his face.

"Nope. Never have been. Just saying."

Veneziano leaned his back up against Germany's broad chest and tilted his head back to look straight up at the top of the wheel. "Germany, are you sure it will be all right?"

The tall blond blushed a little and put a hesitant arm around his younger friend protectively. "It will be all right, Italy, I assure you." Romano turned away at this display of affection with a very irritated look on his face.

Finally they reached the front of the line. Veneziano was so eager to ride that the other two let him and Germany board first. The wheel then moved along; they took their seats. England immediately grabbed Romano's hand, keeping it on the seat, so no one else could see. Romano gave him a tiny, appreciative smile, and rubbed his friend's knuckles with his thumb.

As the wheel began its ascent, the two of them spent some time looking around the park, trying to see the extent of it. "This place is pretty damn big," the half-nation said in surprise. "I wouldn't have thought there was enough real estate around here to spread out a park this size."

England looked ahead of them. "Aw, look," he said, smirking. "Germany and your brother are making out on the Ferris wheel."

"Damn that stupid potato bastard." Romano didn't want to yell at him over this distance, though. He gripped England's hand a little more fiercely.

"Ow. Just let them kiss, ignore them." He pulled his hand free.

"Yeah, after _you_ pointed it out?"

"But it's just so damn cute. Your brother's like a pixie and Germany's like some big warrior. It's hilarious."

"A _pixie_?"

"Nothing wrong with pixies. Some of my best friends are pixies."

Romano groaned.

England gripped the seat as it rocked back and forth. "Hey, are you going to kiss me while we're up here?" They'd stopped at the top of the wheel while the seat opposite them was being filled below. "I, er, need the distraction."

"What? Why?"

"Scared of heights," he said tersely.

"You're kidding! A fucking _mighty nation_ like you?"

"It's only when the wheel is stopped at the top, and the chair is rocking." England closed his eyes. "It always feels like the, the chair is going to come loose and f-fall off."

"Why the hell are we up here, then? Ah, never mind. Here, maybe just this once; nobody can see us." Romano leaned over and pecked him on the lips.

"Damn, that's some hot kissing, git." England opened one eye and laughed.

"Shut up." Suddenly Romano realized no one was watching him and he was right next to the sweater! He reached out and petted the sleeve a few times. "Huh, this really is super-fuzzy." He stroked England's forearm a little longer; the wheel moved on. "It's nice, bastard. You did a good job."

"Thanks." England just watched him, smiling fondly, all fear of heights temporarily forgotten. Romano was apparently an effective distraction.

…

Germany was trying to kiss Italy some more, but on the lower half of the wheel, their car was now behind the other one, and Veneziano was staring at England and Romano in dismay. "Germany, stop," he pleaded. "Look, how sad. They aren't even cuddling!"

"Never mind them," Germany growled, trying to turn the younger man's face to his, but Veneziano was stronger than he looked. He kept his gaze on his brother, who seemed to be arguing with his friend. Germany grabbed Veneziano again, and he turned away from him once more, in time to see Romano punch England on the shoulder.

"Ve," he said sadly, and turned back to his friend in resignation.

…

On the third and last cycle of the wheel, England finally persuaded the brunet to snuggle a little, and they sat with their heads nestled together. Romano was still irritated whenever he looked over at the potato bastard mauling his brother, but there was nothing he could do about it at the moment, so he just sighed and turned his lips to England's hair. "Your hair's always such a fucking mess," he murmured affectionately, running his fingers through the back of it, as their seat passed the halfway point on the descent.

"Who the hell cares, git," replied the blond in an equally soft tone. He raised a hand to Romano's cheek and they shared a few gentle kisses, their other hands entwined on the seat. The wheel began making periodic stops as other passengers disembarked, but they stayed close and comfortable.

"Hey, what happened to my brother and the potato bastard?" Romano idly wondered.

"The wheel turned. They're behind us now."

" _Chigi!_ You mean they could see us kissing! Dammit, you did that on purpose." He pulled away quickly and looked off to the side in a huff.

"Bloody wanker," England laughed triumphantly, folding his arms over his chest. "Get over yourself."

…

"Whoa, Germany, look at this! Laser tag! I love shooting games. Come on, let's all go do this, ve!"

"Hang on a second; let me see what it is." England stepped up to the board and read about the game. "You wear a chest piece with a sensor in it, and you use a laser gun to shoot out the sensors in others' chest pieces. Get through the maze 'alive.' Sure, I'll do it."

"Are you _nuts?_ " Romano was practically hyperventilating just at the description. "That's insane!"

"I agree," said Germany, surprising everyone. "I'm not sure I want to do this. I'm not sure I want you to do this, Italy."

"Let my brother do what he wants," Romano snarled. He hated it when Germany called his brother Italy. As if he, too, wasn't part of Italy. Dammit.

"Well, then England and I will do the laser tag, and you two can wait for us at the exit? Right?"

Romano rolled his eyes. Waiting around with the macho potato, great. "You don't really want to do this, do you, Veneziano? What if you get hurt?"

"Hey, you're not worried about me getting hurt, git?"

" _You_? You bloodthirsty bastard, don't hurt my brother!"

"It's just a game, _fratello_. Nothing to worry about!" Veneziano started cackling in an evil way, which surprised England, but not Romano or Germany. "I'm going to kick England's ass, ve, watch me!"

"Like hell," the blond laughed, and grabbed Veneziano's arm. "We'll see you two at the exit."

Germany moved off towards the exit, still looking rather disturbed. Romano was surprised, both at the fact that he hadn't wanted to join the others in what was essentially a war game, and that the potato head seemed so distracted about his brother. "Don't worry about them," he muttered. "England will take care of _fratello_. He loves that violent shit."

The blond scrubbed his hand over his face. "I'm not so much worried about your brother getting hurt, Romano. It – it distresses me when he feels the need to let this violent side emerge. It never goes well for me."

Romano considered this but didn't respond right away. Then he realized he couldn't possibly leave this discussion alone. "What are you talking about, bastard?"

"He's going to get – ah – well, you must know what he's like." Germany seemed embarrassed to talk about this.

"I don't get what you're trying to say." Romano leaned back against the fence that surrounded the laser tag building, crossing his arms and scowling. Germany faced the building with his forearms on the fence. "He likes to shoot, but it's not a big deal."

"I think perhaps your brother may have changed somewhat, from your perception of him."

"Meaning what? He's a bloodthirsty bastard? Pfft." Romano tried to reconcile this idea with what he knew of Veneziano. Nope. Couldn't do it.

There were a few moments of silence, and then Germany tried again. "He lets this violent side out, and then he's out of control."

"Out of control? My brother? Out of control in what way? Is he going to beat the crap out of England?" Romano actually laughed at this. England _was_ a fucking mighty nation, and there was no way the pixie-ish Veneziano could possibly beat him up. He laughed some more.

"You scoff now, Romano, but you'll see." Germany dropped his head into his hands while they waited. "I wish differently, but I know him well enough by now…"

They didn't speak further, just stood quietly. Romano idly looked around at the other park patrons for a while, but his brain was mulling over the concern Germany had shown. Well, he'd see what his _fratello_ was acting like, when he came out of the building. Maybe there was something to the potato bastard's concern after all.

After a few more minutes, the two players emerged from the exit. Veneziano was laughing maniacally, arm slung around the silent England's shoulders, excitedly talking. Romano had sort of expected this craziness from England, since he'd probably gotten an adrenaline rush from the competition, but… _Veneziano_? He looked over to see how Germany was reacting…and saw that the potato bastard was actually backing away from his _fratello_ with an agitated look on his face.

The younger Italy growled in a low voice, "Ve, Germany, it was so hot in there! You really should have come in with me!" He ran to jump up and embrace his boyfriend, wrapping his legs tightly around the panicking Germany's waist, sliding his hand into the back of the blond hair and pulling his resisting head close for a rough kiss. "Stop struggling, ve," he commanded in a dark, sensual tone, and Germany blushed bright red. Veneziano pressed his open mouth to his in a very demanding way.

Romano, jaw dropping, was so intent on this bizarre scene that he didn't pay any attention to England for a few minutes. When he finally thought to look for him, he found his friend leaning against the fence, facing away from them all, head in hands. "B-bastard?"

"Don't. Don't talk, don't touch. Just – go away for a minute. Don't even look." England's voice was brutal. Romano backed away, not understanding, but trusting his friend. He did look, though; the alternative was watching his brother _attack the potato bastard!_ In public! Ugh.

England continued to stand with his back to them; Romano grew more worried. Was he all right?

Germany had finally managed to pry Veneziano off him and was mopping his forehead with a handkerchief. "Italy, please. We're in public. Try to keep the – the – disturbances to a minimum?"

Veneziano simply grabbed him by the neckline of his shirt and pulled the blond's face down to his level. "Later," he hissed, sadistically, letting go and laughing crazily again, and Germany covered his eyes.

"Please, Italy."

"Ve, I love to hear you beg, Germany…"

Romano was still staring at his friend, desperately trying to ignore the others.

"Come along, Italy; let's go get a nice cold drink, yes? We'll meet you two at the soda stand." Germany grabbed his companion's arm and dragged him away.

"Uh" was Romano's only reply.

England must have heard them leave. He tried to straighten up and master himself. "Bloody hell. That was a fucking intense game. Bollocks." He put his hands on either side of his head and squeezed tightly, still facing away from Romano. "Are you still there?"

"I'm here, bastard. What – what happened? You seemed okay when you came out of the building, or maybe not? You, uh, got through it all right?" He took a few hesitant steps towards his friend. "Did you get hurt?"

"Eh, no, I'm all right, I guess. You know how I get…I was just trying to spare you, you know, in public, to calm down a bit. Sorry. I was kind of abrupt with you just now."

Dammit _._ Adorable _and_ considerate. "Th-that's all right, England. I - I know how you get. Thank you," he finished weakly. Would he really have minded? Cheh, yes, of course he would have. "Save it for later, bastard," he finally grinned, raising his eyebrows suggestively as England turned around to face him. "What worries me is how my brother was acting." Maybe this would take England's mind off the other thing.

"Why, how was he acting? He seemed perfectly normal to me." The island nation pushed his hands through his hair as they started slowly after the others.

"Normal for _you_ , maybe. I've never seen him quite like that before. He was kind of – of _badass._ "

"You think I'm normally badass? Aw, Romano, you rock."

"Shut up; you sound like the albino potato."

"Argh. Come on, let's go get a soda. I need to cool down."

…

"How brave are you feeling?" England asked the others, as they walked along with their sodas. Periodically he pressed the cold cup to his forehead.

"Uh…what do you have in mind, bastard?"

"Haunted house!" He gestured with the cup. "They're always so fun. I bet Japanese ones are super-scary, like their horror movies."

"Haunted houses are fun," said Veneziano, who still had a bit of an evil glint in his eye whenever he looked at Germany. "They're so fakely scary! Plus they're nice and dark, so it's cooler in there, ve."

Germany blushed. "I, I don't mind going through the haunted house." He dropped a hand on Veneziano's shoulder without looking at the younger man.

England raised his eyebrows and grinned at Romano, who just shook his head in disgust. "Well, then, what do you think? Will you go through it with me?"

"Cheh, yes, might as well. I hope it's not too scary."

"I'll protect you," England said sweetly, at the same time that Veneziano said "Ve, England will protect you," in a much darker tone.

All these reassurances made Romano a little nervous, but they finished their sodas and walked into the haunted house, first Germany and Veneziano, then the other two. As soon as they were in the dark, he grabbed England's arm, and then slid his hand down to lace their fingers together. Surprisingly, England let go, but it was only to switch hands, so that he could put his arm around his friend, hand nestled on his hip, and walk behind him. "I can protect you better this way," he laughed in a low voice.

"Mm, I trust you," Romano replied, not entirely truthfully. They walked on a little further. Romano jumped at the sight of the weirdly-illuminated faux gravestones, the dry-ice fog, hearing others murmuring ahead of them. He squeezed England's hand tightly.

"Don't _worry._ It's all fake, remember? _"_

"Yeah, I know, but – gah!" Romano yelled, as a skeleton swung down out of the ceiling in front of them.

England kept the firm, protective grip around him. "I've got you, Romano, it's all right." The brunet stood still for a moment, eyes closed, feeling the warm support of his friend behind him. He had to man up. It was just a haunted house! All fake! In a moment he felt braver, and walked on. The low, minor-key music was still quite creepy, though.

They passed a darker alcove. England quickly drew him into the deeper shadows. "I'm still really turned on from that shooting game," he whispered, and slowly, teasingly, slid his fingertips up under Romano's shirt.

The brunet shivered a little and pressed against him, palms against his friend's chest, not yet kissing, resting their foreheads together. "I wonder what would happen if we both got like that at the same time," he wondered breathlessly.

"Bloody hell, we'd probably burn the place down." England kissed him. "We should try it sometime."

"Oh, yes…"

They played in the dark for a few arousing minutes, before Romano recollected that his brother and the potato bastard would be waiting for them at the exit. "Hey."

"Mm, hey, what," England gasped, trying to slide his hand down the front of Romano's jeans. "Come on, come closer."

"No, listen." He pushed the island nation's hand away weakly. "Those bastards will be waiting." He leaned his head on England's shoulder, whispering into his ear. "I, I would love to stay here and fool around with you, but…I don't want a bunch of shit from them, if we take too long…"

"The way I feel right now, it won't take long at all, you demon. Come on, touch me…or let me touch you _…_ " He finally managed to unzip Romano's pants. "Ah, yeah…"

"No, stop, bastard." Romano moaned as he felt the blond's heated touch on his skin. "Seriously…" He managed to back away, clenching his teeth and fists, but then bumped into a wall behind him and shivered with a little _frisson_ of fear. "Dammit, come on, let's get out of this creepy place," he hissed. He fixed his jeans and eased away from England a little further.

"Damn it, Romano. You – you – " The island nation took a few deep breaths. "Bollocks _._ You're probably right...just, how the hell do you stay so sodding reasonable?" They stood in the darkness for a moment, slowly readjusting themselves, regaining composure, and then made their way to the exit, not noticing the scary things, not touching or conversing, because each was too preoccupied with his own thoughts.

Outside, there was a prizewinning absence of Veneziano and Germany. "Dammit." Romano was pissed. (So was England, but for a different reason. He snorted.) "What are you laughing at, bastard? Where did they go?" He looked down the pathway to see if they'd moved on, but he couldn't spot them.

"You'll see. They'll be back, just wait." Romano did see, several minutes later, when the potato bastard stumbled out of the haunted house red-faced, with his usually-precise hair all mussed; Veneziano, stretching lazily, had a smug and satisfied grin on his face. England started snickering – rather nastily – and Romano turned away.

"You owe me," the island nation hissed in his ear, displeased. "Big time."

…

While they wandered around, discussing various attractions, Romano began to get nervous about his friend. England was not paying any attention to him at all, but instead chatting with the other two; was not looking at him at all, but instead gazing around the park. He wasn't even walking near him! What the hell? "Hey, bastard," he said, reaching out to grab his sleeve.

"Hmm?" was the idle response. "Don't stretch out my sweater."

Huh. Romano ignored that for now. "You all right?"

"Yeah."

Well, that was not reassuring. Romano looked around for some kind of conversational icebreaker and saw an interesting ride ahead. "Hey, bastards, want to ride on this?" He had no idea what it was, but it might prove effective in breaking through whatever England's deal was.

"The Himalaya!" Germany exclaimed. "I haven't ridden on one of these in years. Yes, I'm happy to ride this, Romano." He smiled down at Veneziano. "I think you might like it too."

Veneziano had lost his badass demeanor and reverted to his usual good-natured attitude. "Ve, whatever you say, Germany! Let's ride!"

England was still staring off into space. Romano elbowed him. "Uh – hey, bastard, are you going to ride this?"

"Might as well. Come on, let's get in line."

Germany explained about the Himalaya ride while they waited in the line. "You see that the cars are connected to the hub by spokes. The ride simply goes around in a circle, spinning around the center hub very quickly, and also, the flat surface that the cars ride upon will wobble, like a fallen plate. Riders get pushed outward by the centrifugal force. So you should put the lighter person on the inside, or the weaker person."

"Cheh, I'll go on the inside," Romano sighed.

"No, I will. You take the outside. I don't want you crushing me, git."

"What the hell, so I have to suffer with you crushing me?"

"I'm taking the inside," England said stubbornly. Germany and Veneziano gave each other a confused look.

They boarded the ride. Veneziano took the inside in their seat, and England inside next to Romano in the seat behind them. When the ride started up, Romano instantly understood what Germany had meant; the circular ride's force was flinging him sideways and outward against the edge of the booth-style seat. He looked forward with irritation to see his brother squashed up against the potato bastard, squealing in glee, arms in the air.

By contrast, England was hugging the seat bar and the opposite side of the booth fiercely, trying not to let himself slide up against Romano.

"What the hell are you doing, bastard?" he yelled above the noise.

"Just shut up. I'm trying to see if I can finish the ride without crushing you _._ "

Romano put his head down on the seat bar, rolling his eyes. How idiotic.

…

"Let's get something to eat, please," Germany begged. "It's a long time since we had breakfast." England agreed, since he'd had the least breakfast.

They found an actual sit-down restaurant area and settled in. The prices were fairly high, but on the positive side, they could have some peace and quiet, as well as probably eating a higher quality of food. "Hey, pastaaaa!" Veneziano yelled, reading the menu. "They have pasta at a Japanese park?"

"Must be due to your influence on Japan," Germany said cheerfully.

Both the others scoffed at this. "I used to be friendly with Japan," England pointed out, "and I don't see any English food on the menu." The others all politely refrained from comment. "Wankers."

When the food came both England and Germany watched with interest to see if the pasta passed muster. For Romano, it did not. "This is sucky pasta," he grumbled, _sotto voce_. "Overcooked, and not enough tomatoes in the sauce."

Veneziano tasted it. "Ve. I agree, Romano. I was going to say something nice about it, since it is in Japan's house, but…I can't."

"Will you be able to eat it?" Germany wondered. "Do you want to order something else?"

"You can share my lunch," England offered.

"And mine as well." Germany pushed his plate to the center of the table.

"Thanks, bastards, but I can deal with this for now. Keep your lunch."

"Me, too, ve. We'll just have to get some ice cream for dessert, to take away the taste!"

The rest of the meal passed mostly in silence, as the two Italies manfully ate the pseudo-pasta.

…

 _I love badass!Feli._


	54. Amusement Park, Chapter 4

**Amusement Park, Chapter 4.**

"Anybody want to go on the Death Drop?" England looked a bit crazy again, eyes wide, though he wasn't laughing yet. "These things are awesome." He stared up at the vertical coaster with a focused, intent look on his face. "Last time I was on one was at America's place. It wasn't as high as this one, but it was pretty wicked." Romano took a step backwards, and Veneziano looked at the island nation doubtfully. Neither of them spoke, so he continued prodding. "What, you gits are seriously not interested? It's a pretty short ride." Still no takers. "Damn. Well, I guess I can go by myself." This with an arch, fake-sad look, as though he was fishing for a companion.

Eventually, he gave up. "Okay. I'll meet you here in, what, an hour? That line's pretty long."

"I'll go with you, England," Germany finally said. "Perhaps the Italies would like to spend some brother time together." He handed his cap to Veneziano to hold, so it wouldn't fall off during the ride and get lost.

"Cool, let's go. See you!" The blonds moved off, leaving the brothers staring after them.

Finally Veneziano managed to say something, putting on Germany's cap to keep it safe. "Ve, that ride looks like a death drop, all right."

"Dammit. I had no idea he was into those thrill rides. If he's going to be on them all day, we won't be able to spend any time together at all!" But upon reflection, he really shouldn't have been surprised that England liked those kinds of rides.

"I think it's wonderful that you and England are spending time together, _fratello_. But you don't act very affectionate together. It makes me a little sad. Love is meant to be shared!"

Romano growled. "Come on, let's go look at the souvenir shop or something. And – and just because we don't act affectionate in public doesn't mean we're distant in – in private, idiot." He blushed a little, hands shoved into pockets, as they walked off together. "Not everybody has to be a romantic showoff like you. We – we're all right together, no matter how it looks to you."

"Well, as long as you're happy. I'm just glad you have such a good friend. I like England now, ve, but he was super scary in the war time!"

"We all did what we thought we had to do," Romano sighed. "Luckily things change." Veneziano nodded in agreement.

England had continued to act a little distant towards him after the disastrous pasta lunch. Romano wasn't really worried. The brothers went into the shop together and Veneziano immediately began exclaiming over the stuffed animals and other knickknacks available for sale.

Romano idly wandered around the store, not really looking for anything in particular, just killing time. He looked at the displays, the other customers, waiting for something to catch his interest. Suddenly Veneziano was waving a fluffy stuffed lion in his face. "Look at this!"

"Ugh, that's creepy. Are you going to buy that? Make sure you keep it at your house! I don't want to see it again, bastard!" The thing had a disturbingly evil stare.

"I don't know; I thought of buying it for Germany, but maybe it's not such a good idea, ve. What are you going to get for England?"

"I, I wasn't planning to get him anything, dammit!"

"But you should! Something to make him remember today. Since he's on the ride, he won't have any time in the shop."

"Something little, maybe. Not too sappy."

"How about a key chain? Then he could put it on his keys and think of us every time he goes somewhere."

"Why would he want to think about you, you idiot? Argh, whatever. Let's see what they have." The two of them looked through the key chains for a while, looking for something suitable.

"Hey, look, here's a cute little Doberman puppy keychain!"

Romano took it and looked at it. "Well, it's cuter than that stupid stuffed animal you were waving around, but…I don't know, it's still kind of bizarre. What else is there?" He rummaged around a little more. "Hey, check this one out! It's perfect." He held it up for his brother's inspection.

"Ve, Romano, I'm not so sure about that one…it really doesn't have anything to do with Japan, or amusement parks…"

"Well, neither do the damn stuffed animals, idiot! I'm getting this for him, and that's it. I know he'll like it because it will remind him of me. Even if it doesn't remind him of the amusement park." He shoved his way through store patrons to the checkout; Veneziano followed, intending to buy the Doberman keychain for Germany.

…

Germany and England finally approached the front of the line for the Death Drop. "How does this thing work again?" Germany asked, slightly nervously. He had been watching the ride proceed, but apparently still didn't understand how the mechanical aspect worked.

"It's like a roller coaster, sort of. The cars are the same type. You get in; the cars are pulled up, just like on a regular roller coaster, except that you go straight up on the vertical. When the first seats reach the top of the, the pillar thing, the entire row of seats is released to free-fall back down to the ground. So you're falling backwards and down. There are no brakes; the track curves at the bottom to slow it down enough to stop. Ha, this is going to be great! Thanks for coming with me, old chap." England stood happily staring up at the top of the ascent.

"N-no problem," the taller blond replied, his jitters unnoticed by his companion.

They got seated near the center of the line of cars, and then the ride began its slow rise into the sky. It was rather disconcerting to be lying on one's back, out in the open, oh so slowly ratcheting into the air. England started to feel a bit nervous. This was as bad as rocking at the top of the Ferris wheel! No, this was _worse._ He couldn't see the ground, or any point of reference, just clouds, and the other riders. The one in America hadn't been this disturbing, had it? He looked hesitantly over at Germany…

…who was smiling and looking around eagerly. "This isn't bad at all," he said cheerfully. "I thought it was going to be a lot more nerve-wracking." He peered over the edge curiously. "I wonder if we can see the Italies from up here."

England didn't – couldn't – speak, and he certainly couldn't look down. He just held the bar in a death grip and tried to force his teeth not to chatter. Germany continued making small talk all the way up, seemingly unaware of his companion's anxiety.

Finally they reached the top of the ride. "Hang on," England cautioned through gritted teeth. Germany merely relaxed and looked over at the island nation curiously, and then the cars dropped.

"Woohoo!" England screamed in excitement, waving his arms in the sky, hair flying every which way…while Germany blanched and grabbed the seat bar in silent panic, oblivious to his own hair's new disarray. England continued screaming and laughing joyously all the way down to the stop.

For a ride with such a long wait, the Death Drop was disappointingly short to ride on. Within two minutes, they had disembarked and started tottering unsteadily back to where they'd left the brothers. "Bloody hell, that was awesome _,_ " England laughed, leaning a hand against Germany's back. The taller blond was still unable to speak, but managed a short bark of laughter as he tried to smooth his hair back into place.

Veneziano and Romano came running over to them. "Dammit, bastard! What the hell happened?" Romano took England by the upper arm in concern, while Veneziano hugged his boyfriend around the waist.

"That was an excellent ride," England laughed. "You should have – no, never mind. You would have hated it." He pulled his arm out of Romano's grasp, but not violently, and leaned on his shoulder for support, panting a little in recovery.

"Ve, did you like it, Germany?"

"It was a very interesting ride, which I will never forget." He clenched his teeth and looked away, putting his cap back on.

England laughed at him. "You did all right. At least now you can say you did it, yeah? Tell your brother about it. He'll be extremely jealous."

"That's so." He and Veneziano walked ahead a little bit, Germany still quite unsteady, leaning on his smaller friend.

"He was scared?" Romano whispered to his friend.

"We were both a little scared," England admitted quietly, not wanting to show up Germany in front of Veneziano, "but it was all right after we started falling."

"Are you all right, though? You're wobbling!"

"I am? Huh."

"Here, hang onto me, bastard, I'll help you out."

England raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Thanks, git."

"Anytime." They moved off towards their friends happily.

"So what did you two do while we were up there?"

"Ah, just – just kicked around a little. People-watched."

"I wouldn't mind a little people-watching myself. Maybe a little later." England overdid the clinging, rubbing his cheek against Romano's shoulder in a mischievous Veneziano fashion. His friend suddenly shoved him upright.

"You can walk okay now, dammit."

Sigh. "Yes."

They caught up to the others and found that Germany had suggested the sky ride, which was like a low, horizontal chair lift that would carry patrons from one side of the park to the other. "If we ride the sky ride we'll get to the other side of the park, where the games arcades are, and some of the other smaller rides."

"Sounds fine to me, bastard." They looked overhead at the serenely-moving sky ride cars, and everyone felt comfortable with the idea of a slow seated ride across the park.

"Two people per chair, please," the attendant said when they reached the front of the line. Romano was relieved. He wanted some alone time talking with his friend, without the potato bastard eavesdropping. Or his idiot brother!

They let the other two get into the first car. "Whew, it's nice to sit down," England admitted, when they were seated. "I still feel a little wobbly."

Romano took his hand. "So what was so scary about that ride? I guess falling like that can be frightening. It was pretty fucking high, higher even than the Ferris wheel."

"It wasn't the falling, Romano! That was really fun. It was the climbing up part. It – it was impossible to see anything other than the sky, and – and Germany, and it made me really nervous."

"Cheh, I can understand that _._ " He snorted.

They rode without speaking for another minute, holding hands on the seat. "Seriously, though, you're okay, bastard?" His gaze was concerned.

"I will be. Thanks." England squeezed his friend's hand and gave him the sweet smile.

…

"Italy!"

"Ve, what is it, Germany?"

"A water ride! Oh, I would like very much to go on a water ride. Will you go on a water ride with me?"

"I'd like that. I have never been on one of these water rides. Will you two come with us?"

England and Romano looked at each other. "Maybe we'll just wait here and rest," England finally said.

"Y-yeah. You guys go. We'll be on this bench. Come find us when you're done."

Romano had picked a fairly secluded bench under the trees. As soon as he realized this, he wondered whether his friend would be getting his hopes up again. Wondered what he would do, if England _did_ get his hopes up. He was kind of feeling a little agitated, almost as if he too wouldn't mind a little of the public stuff. Just a little.

"Hey," the island nation said.

"Uh, what?"

"Thanks for resting here with me. I'm not in the mood for a water ride."

"Cheh, I just didn't want my silk jacket to get ruined. Or your sweater." He looked over at England. "Do you – would you mind if I rested my head on your shoulder for a little while?"

The blond looked surprised. "No, of course not." He scooted a little closer to Romano and put his arm on the back of the bench behind him, sort of embracing, but sort of not. Romano sighed and relaxed against his friend. "Getting tired?"

"No, not really. Just want to relax a little, without those bastards watching."

"Yeah." They sat quietly for a minute.

"So, I've been thinking," Romano finally murmured, in a low tone, in the blond's ear.

After a minute, wherein he seemed to have stalled, England prompted, "Yes? What have you been thinking about?"

"About tonight," he said, in an even lower voice.

Another pause.

"I've been thinking about tonight, too…What have you been thinking?" England made his voice lower and more intimate, turning his head to nuzzle Romano's hair just a little.

"Uh…just wondering if we should stop anywhere on the way back to the hotel."

"What do you mean, git? Like a, a massage parlor?" England seemed truly baffled.

"Don't be stupid, bastard," he continued softly. "I meant to buy stuff for later. You know."

"Oh."

Yet another pause.

"So do you think we should?"

"Well, I actually have two concerns here," England stated matter-of-factly. This tone of voice worried Romano, but he stayed relaxed against his friend's shoulder. It was pretty comfortable, and the sweater felt nice against his cheek.

"And these concerns are –?"

"One is, why do we need to get anything _?_ Isn't it all right when it's just us?" He grinned and so did Romano.

"Mm, yeah, a valid point…and the other concern?"

"How are we going to stop off and buy things without your brother and Germany seeing?" England started laughing, and Romano sat bolt upright.

"Shit. I hadn't thought of that, bastard. That's a very good point."

"You don't want to give them any ideas, do you?"

"Dammit! Although after that laser tag business, I don't think I could possibly put an idea in my brother's head that wasn't already there. That was pretty fucking bizarre."

"Speaking of the laser tag…" England reached over to pull Romano close again and managed to swirl his tongue around the brunet's ear before Romano's blush drove him into anger.

"Chigi! Why do you keep trying to fool me into these situations?" He pulled away.

"Fool you? I thought I was being pretty bloody obvious." England crossed his arms and his legs and shifted in his seat. "Anyway, you started it. All that talk about _stuff._ "

Romano didn't speak for a minute, still angry. Then he settled down to accept the truth of that last statement. "I can't help it," he offered. "I want to be close to you, too, but…I hate looking like an idiot in public!" He looked down at his fingers twisting together in his lap.

"I know you do. Don't worry about it. We'll have time." Just as England put his arm around Romano's shoulders again, Veneziano and Germany reappeared. They were fairly wet, and looked very happy.

"Hey, did you enjoy it?" England asked.

"It was quite exhilarating. Italy got very wet!"

"Ve," said the younger, simply, happily. "But it was fun. Let's go see what else we can find."

…

"Ooh!"

"Ooh what, idiot?"

"Ooh, there's a Tunnel of Love!"

All three of Veneziano's companions started blushing madly. "I am not going to go on the Tunnel of – of Love, dammit," Romano barked immediately, turning away.

England didn't say a word, just looked at Romano, then at the ground, shyly.

Germany caved first. "I'll go through the Tunnel of – of – I'll go through it with you, if you like, Italy." He looked off into the distance.

"Ve, but we have to all go! Don't worry! No one will see; it's all dark, right?"

England and Romano continued to blush without speaking, without looking at anyone, Romano grinding his hand into his face. "I – I don't know," the island nation finally stammered, still looking at the ground.

Romano looked at him hesitantly through his fingers. Maybe they could – could be close, in the boat? England looked up, caught his eye, and seemed to read his mind, giving a tiny, tiny smile that only Romano could read.

"Come on, you two; don't let me and Germany have all the fun, ve!"

"Might as well, you idiot, or you'll never shut up about it."

"Sure, since you ask so nicely," England shrugged.

"Yay! Tunnel of Love, here we come!"

" _Chigi!_ Stop yelling about it!" Romano walked the rest of the way fuming, looking determinedly down at the ground, but he did go.

There was a surprising lack of people in line for the Tunnel, and when they reached the front of the line, they discovered why. Romano had planned to sit in the second boat with England, letting the potato bastard and his brother do – whatever they planned to do – in the boat ahead, but the attendant informed them that all boats must be completely filled before departing. Since each boat held four people, that meant they'd all have to ride in the _same damn boat_!

"No, thanks! Absolutely not, dammit!" he muttered, mindful of the other patrons.

But both England (subtly) and Veneziano (more obviously) got sad looks on their faces. Only Germany seemed in agreement with Romano, and that was unacceptable. "All right." He rapidly changed his mind. "You bastards sit in the front."

"No, Romano. You and England sit in the front, ve. You're always lurking around behind us and I don't like that!"

So he and England had to sit together in the front of the boat. Romano still wouldn't look at anyone as they seated themselves. When they'd gotten situated, England tried to locate Romano's ear in the dark. "Hey, _now_ you can kiss me," he murmured, as he snuggled up close.

"No, I can't. Not with those bastards behind us." He rubbed his hand over his face a few times to calm down.

England tried again. "Oh, for crying out loud, Romano. It's totally dark, and you got me all turned on talking about getting stuff for tonight!" He took his friend's hand and laced their fingers together. "Come on, just a little bit? Please? You know you like it…" They could hear quiet murmurs from the other two behind them. Romano pulled away a little.

"No, bastard, because it's going to get you all pissed off when we can't – can't go any further." This was a stab in the dark, but it seemed Romano had guessed right. He felt England's cool hand withdraw from his, and felt the subtle change in air as their bodies moved apart. He hissed, "And I categorically refuse to try and give you – get you – hell, you know what I mean, not when we're all actually in the same fucking boat!"

England burst into loud, delighted laughter, startling the other three boat occupants and probably the occupants of some other boats, too. "Oh, Romano, you're perfect," he murmured into his friend's ear, hugging him tightly, rubbing his cheek against his hair. "It makes me so happy just to laugh with you."

"Chigi," Romano replied, but his heart wasn't in it; he smiled in the dark, and took his friend's hand again.

…

"Have you ever ridden a troika ride?" Germany asked them, after they'd exited the Tunnel of Love. Surprisingly, it didn't seem like the potato bastard had been – up to– anything with his brother in the boat. Romano was on the one hand relieved, but on the other, slightly disturbed – why wasn't the bastard being nice to Veneziano? Had they had a fight? But really, he was rather glad he didn't have to think about the bastards doing anything in the same boat with him!

He was distracted from these musings by England, who was surreptitiously trying to grab his hand. As if he wouldn't have noticed! Romano moved out of reach and received a smirk in return. He turned away.

"Hello?" Germany asked shortly, when no one had responded to his troika question.

"Sorry. What's a troika ride, bastard?"

They were all treated to an in-depth, accurate, technical explanation of the troika ride.

"Ve, sounds pretty fun, Germany! Let's go!"

So they all rode the troika ride. Germany seemed to be loosening up a little, and actually whooped a few times on the ride, waving his arms in the air. Romano found himself relaxing more, although he still wasn't about to be comfortable with the macho potato around. Still, it was kind of funny to see him yelling like a little kid. He and Veneziano still seemed to be having a lot of fun together, so probably nothing had been wrong in the boat. Probably. Romano planned to have a serious talk with the potato bastard if he'd done anything to piss off his _fratello_.

…

"Ve, why don't we get some snacks and relax for a while? My feet are starting to hurt."

"Good idea. I want to do some people-watching. Dammit, this place is packed."

"Why don't the two of you find us a place to sit and rest? England and I will get the snacks. What would you like?"

"Ice cream!"

"Yeah, ice cream sounds good. Chocolate, bastard, not vanilla." He poked his friend's side.

"I know, I know." England poked him back. "Think I'm stupid? We've been eating ice cream together for a long time."

"Cheh, just shut up and go get the ice cream, dammit!" Romano covered his face to hide his blush.

As the two blonds moved away to the snack stand, Veneziano peered at his brother in concern. "Are you all right, _fratello_? Getting tired?"

"I'm fine," Romano, astonished, replied. "Why the hell are you asking, idiot?" They walked towards an unoccupied table with an umbrella.

His brother shrugged. "You just seem a little tense. Maybe you need to raise your blood sugar?"

"Which is exactly why I'm going to eat ice cream, you dumbass!" He blew out a breath and leaned back in the chair he'd chosen. "Sorry. You really don't need to worry, Veneziano. I'm fine, England's fine, everything is fine." Then he spent another quiet moment, mostly trying to avoid Veneziano's intense stare. "Is everything okay with you and the potato bastard?" he mumbled.

"Yes, ve…although he was too uptight to kiss me in the boat!"

Romano was quite relieved by this, until he realized that he had been behaving the exact same way. "Dammit."

Veneziano misunderstood. "It's all right, I'll get him back for it later," he laughed.

The others came back with ice cream for all, and some Japanese cookies to try. They were surprisingly delicious, and Germany went back for more when the first batch had vanished.

"This is so nice," England offered, when they were all seated again. "Thank you both for inviting us to join you in Japan. I'm having a really fun day!" He gave Romano a very sweet smile.

Romano stared at him in disbelief.

The blond recoiled from the shocked glare. "What? Aren't you?"

"I – uh, well, of course I am, bastard, dammit," he said in confusion, putting his head on the table to conceal his blush.

"Well, that's good then, Romano, ve! We're all having a good time, aren't we, Germany?"

"I always enjoy time spent with you, Italy," was the somewhat noncommittal response, as Germany looked away, apparently absorbed by the crowds milling about.

…

"Well, I certainly feel much more energetic after all of that sugar," England laughed. "What should we do now? Another shooting game? Ha ha."

"No!" barked both Germany and Romano. Veneziano began his mad cackling again.

"All right, fine…how about…oh, I don't know. Romano, you pick something. You haven't chosen anything for a while."

"I chose the ice cream!"

"No, I chose the ice cream, ve. Go ahead, Romano, pick something." They opened up the map and looked at all the little icons.

"What's this? Ghost train?" Germany said, pointing to a little corner of the map near where they were currently standing.

"Ghost train?" Romano didn't like the sound of that.

"Ah, they're not that bad. It's basically like riding a train through a haunted house, or some kind of themed train ride in the dark."

"Ve, we love the haunted houses, don't we, Germany?"

Germany blushed and looked away. So did the other two.

"I think maybe we should skip the ghost train," England finally offered in a weak voice, not looking at Romano.

"I think maybe you're right," the brunet answered.

"Why don't we walk around the park and see what catches our eye, instead of looking at the map?" Germany suggested. "Romano might see something else he'd like to do."

"That works, bastard. Come on, let's walk."


	55. Amusement Park, Chapter 5

**Amusement Park, Chapter 5.**

"Bumper cars!" Romano yelled. "Let's ride the bumper cars!" He pointed eagerly towards the entrance. There weren't many people in line.

"Ve, are you sure? You remember what happened that one time?"

"Yeah, yeah, I remember. Forget it. That was a long time ago. Come on, come on _._ " Romano was practically jumping up and down with excitement, trying to grab his brother's arm, but Veneziano dodged him and stood clinging to Germany as if for protection.

"Why, what happened?" England asked, poking Romano in the arm, smiling. "Accident? How can you have an accident in bumper cars?"

"Not an accident _per se_ ," Veneziano answered pensively, "more like an incident, or —"

"Shut up about it, _fratello_ ," his brother growled. "There's no need at all for them to know about that, dammit. Let's just go ride them."

"If we are to be placing ourselves in danger on a bumper car floor with you, Romano, I think there most certainly is a need for all of us to know. Veneziano?"

"Listen, you uptight potato bastard, it was nothing! My brother is making a bigger deal of this than it really was."

"Come on, tell us what it was, wanker." This with a bigger grin than before.

"Chigi! No."

"Then maybe we shouldn't do bumper cars," Germany announced.

"Argh." Romano scrubbed his hands through his hair, but then took a moment to fix it again.

"No, come on, I'll ride them with you, even if they don't want to. Let's go." England grabbed Romano by the hand, still grinning, and started dragging him to the entrance.

"Bastard, why? I mean, I'm glad you'll do it, but…?"

"Because it will make you happy, you brainless git. Come on. Nobody should have to skip the bumper cars just because his friends are too scared." They ran happily the rest of the way to the entrance, still holding hands, like little kids escaping from their babysitters.

"Ve…" This in a very dubious tone as the other two watched them run off. "I'm glad England is willing to take this risk with my brother, but…"

"Will you enlighten me as to the incident?"

After considering a moment, Veneziano decided against it. "Romano really didn't want me to tell, so I won't. I'm sorry, Germany. He can tell you himself if he wants to, but I won't." They walked to the bumper car floor to watch.

Germany crossed his arms and stood frowning down with his legs spread a little, a stance that usually put the fear of God into the small Italian. It did not work this time. Veneziano merely leaned against the fence to watch them ride the cars. Eventually Germany gave up and joined him with a sigh.

As it turned out, both the nations were far more skilled (and a lot louder) than the other, mostly younger, bumper car drivers. England wailed like a banshee as he chased his friend around the floor, spinning, repeatedly bumping Romano's car from every angle, with his maniacal laughter ringing through the building. By contrast, Romano tended towards the long-approach, aggressive single bump complete with growling and snarling, and then loud yells of glee at the completion of a successful violent attack, sometimes actually standing up in the car to exult. Other drivers cautiously edged out of the way of their focused paths, leaving a mostly-cleared space in the center of the room for the two of them to bash and batter each other's car. At the end of the time limit, the attendant called three times to get their attention, and even then they didn't listen. The other drivers quickly and nervously exited the bumper car floor and the attendant finally had to turn off all the power to the ride to get them to stop.

"Oh."

"It's over already? Bastards!"

"Come on, let's blow." They got out of the cars, laughing, and stumbled towards the exit, arms around each other's shoulders, trying to escape before the angry attendant could berate them.

"You two are banned from this ride, do you hear me?" she yelled at their retreating backs. "Banned! I'm putting up a notice right now!" They let go of each other and legged it in earnest, still laughing, with Germany and Veneziano falling into stride behind them.

"You're the best, bastard," Romano wheezed when they were out of range of the attendant. He stopped and bent forward with his hands on his knees, recovering. "Thanks."

"Anything to make you happy, wanker."

"Ve, Romano! Now you're banned from _three_ —"

"Shut up, dammit."

"All right, _fratello_ , whatever you say. You had fun, though!"

"Hell, yes, we had fun. Let's get something to drink." Romano grabbed England's hand and roughly pulled him towards the refreshment stands.

…

"Er –" England's voice was a bit hesitant.

"Let me guess, you want to go on another crazy death ride, right, bastard?"

"Not a crazy one! Just a plain old wooden roller coaster, look." He pointed to it. It did look a lot less scary than the Death Drop, or some of the other steel coasters they'd avoided today, but Romano still wasn't sure about it.

"I like those classic ones, ve. They're pretty tame. Will you go on it, Germany?"

"I don't mind. I used to ride them a lot. It's true they're not nearly as scary as the steel ones."

Everyone tried to avoid staring at Romano while they waited for his answer, but everyone failed.

"Stop staring, dammit. I – I'm not sure yet. I've never been on a roller coaster." He eyed it nervously.

"Let me talk to him," England said to the other two, and dragged his friend away from them.

"What are you going to do, bastard, threaten me?" Romano asked with a frown.

"What? I was just going to tell you that it would be fun, they're not scary, they're like fast car rides. And I wouldn't let you get scared, I'd be right there with you. Bloody hell, sometimes you make me want to – kick you."

Romano, who had looked like he was beginning to soften up, snapped back, "So you are going to threaten me!"

"Shut it, git. Do whatever you want. I'm going on the coaster with them. You can sulk here all alone; see if I care." England stormed back to the others. "Come on, let's go. Romano's being a big girl's blouse."

Veneziano pursed his lips, thinking. "Ve, let me talk to him." He walked over to his furious brother and said a few words. The blonds saw Romano shake his head. Veneziano argued a little more forcefully, making wild gestures with his hands. Romano looked away and blushed, visible even at this distance. Finally the younger said something with a winning smile, slapped his brother on the shoulder, and made as if to turn away. Romano put a hand out and grabbed Veneziano's arm with a curt nod.

They came back to the others. "It's all set, ve; Romano will be brave and ride the coaster with us!"

England gave Romano a questioning look, but the brunet wouldn't meet his eyes. "Come on, bastard," he growled, and pushed his friend into line.

"What the hell did he say to you?" England wondered, but Romano just shook his head.

They inched towards the front of the line; this was a very popular ride. Veneziano chattered happily to Germany and England, although the island nation kept turning to give Romano quizzical looks. "Hey," Romano finally muttered, turning his back to his brother and the potato bastard, so they couldn't see him talking. "Sorry." He put his hands on his hips and looked away, then back at his friend.

England raised an eyebrow, distracting him a moment. "What are you sorry for now, git? There's so much to choose from."

"Dammit, shut the hell up." He turned away again, actually growling under his breath. "I was just trying to – to – argh; forget I said anything, you argumentative bastard."

"Well, this is turning out to be another top-class discussion, I must say."

"I said shut up _."_

"Make me."

Romano punched him.

"Ow, well, that hurts, but it's not going to make me shut up," the blond teased.

"What's it going to take, then, you son of a bitch?"

"You'll have to forcibly shut my mouth."

They looked at each other and burst into laughter, leaning against the railing together. Veneziano, who had been trying desperately not to appear an eavesdropper, looked away quickly.

"Ve, those two have a really weird relationship," they heard him whisper to Germany, which just made them laugh a little more, and after that, Romano leaned comfortably against his friend's shoulder as they continued moving to the front of the line.

…

"That was so fucking amazing!" Romano was really excited. "Let's do it again!" He'd never dared to ride a roller coaster before, and while he would never do something as crazy as the Death Drop, this roller coaster had been great fun. "Come on, let's go again." He grabbed England by the arm.

"I want to do some other things, though," Veneziano pouted. "Let's do this one again on the way out, instead."

"No, no, we're right here, so we should just do it again now, dammit."

"Ach, I think I need something calmer," Germany said. "Like an arcade or something."

"Ve, yes! We can play skeeball!"

Romano's eyes lit up. "All right, I'll play skeeball, if we can go on the roller coaster again before we leave. Deal?"

"Deal," Germany offered quickly, surprising everyone.

"Wait, wait, wait just a bloody minute," England finally managed to say. "What the hell is skeeball?"

The other three stared at him.

"You've got to be kidding me, bastard."

"Er – no? Never heard of it."

"Well, come on, then, England, and we'll show you, ve! Where is the arcade, Germany?"

Germany located the arcade on the map and they headed in that direction. On the way, they stopped for some candyfloss.

"My teeth are going to fall out," Germany sighed happily, peeling off large fluffy chunks of candy with his teeth and snapping them up like a dog with a treat.

"Yet we notice you keep eating the sugary stuff, bastard!" Romano was trying to capture little pieces with his tongue and lick them off the stick, sort of like eating ice cream.

Veneziano pulled little tufts of floss off his stick with his fingers and ate them discreetly. "Germany doesn't need to worry. He has the strongest, whitest teeth ever. Except maybe for Prussia." Everyone snorted at that.

England had squashed the whole stick of candyfloss back into a firm ball and then devoured it like an apple. "So tell me about skeeball."

For some reason Romano didn't offer to tell; he just stood there, hands twitching a little, fighting a smirk. England stepped away from him nervously while the other two tried to explain skeeball to him. "How hard can that be?" the island nation finally asked. Romano replied with nothing more than a slow, intent grin.

They reached the arcade just as Veneziano finished the last of his candyfloss. Romano led them eagerly to the skeeball ramps. "Let's go, bastards." He spared a minute to get England set up at his own little ramp and then moved to start playing at his own.

Yes, Romano was in fine form today; he had always been a skeeball demon, and started racking up high scores almost immediately, shouting and jumping up and down, exuberant. "Check it out, bastards! Beat that!" Other people in the arcade actually stopped what they were doing to watch him.

Germany was competent, but didn't show the flair that Romano did. He played in silence, fiercely concentrating with a deep frown on his face. Every now and then he let out a grunt, or did a head slap, when something didn't go as planned.

Veneziano and England were both total failures. "Bollocks! How hard can this be?" England yelled, whipping the balls too hard up the ramp in increasing anger.

Veneziano had the opposite problem; his throws were too weak to score much. "Can we take a break, please, ve?"

"I agree," England snarled. Germany and Romano ignored them and kept playing, so they took a break and watched Romano jump around for a while.

At the end of the session, Germany had scored a lot of tickets, but Romano had scored a lot more, enough for a big black stuffed dragon. The other two looked sadly at their pathetic collection of pooled tickets, not even enough for a candy bar.

"Ve, England, I guess we need more practice." The younger Italy pouted artificially, avoiding his boyfriend's eye.

Germany sighed and gave all his tickets to Veneziano, who cheered and redeemed them for a little stuffed kitty. "Kitty, kitty, kitty…"

"Bloody hell, I just don't get it."

"Heh, aggression doesn't always make up for lack of skill, bastard."

"Shut it, git. You know I have aggression and skill."

Romano blushed and stalked right out of the arcade, hugging his dragon.

…

Outside, the weather had begun to get cooler as evening approached. "Do we want to have dinner here, or outside the park?" Veneziano wondered.

"Outside the park," both Germany and England agreed. Romano, still not talking to anyone, stared irritably down at his boots, clutching the dragon close to his chest.

"Ve, then we should probably go for Romano's last roller coaster ride, yes?"

"Yes, dammit. Let's go." He strode off in the wrong direction and England ran after him, grabbing his arm.

"Hey."

"Get off, bastard."

"You're walking the wrong way, git! It's over this way." He jerked his head toward the roller coaster. "Come on. Relax a little. Or do you want to skip the roller coaster?"

"Of course not. Come on." He grabbed England's arm and pulled him back to the others. "Sorry. Got confused."

"Ve, that's all right, _fratello_. It's been a long day. Let's go get in line."

As they settled into the roller coaster seats behind the others, Romano grabbed and squeezed England's hand, and received a wry smile in return. Huh, he guessed his friend wasn't too mad, then, even though the day had been full of crazy ups and downs. He let go and gripped the seat bar as the cars moved off, squeezing his dragon between his knees for security.

…

"Hey, thanks, everybody. I appreciate that you let me ride it again."

When Romano said this, his brother stepped forward and felt his forehead in concern. "Ve?"

Romano knocked his hand away with a short laugh. "Knock it off, idiot, I'm fine."

"Are we ready to leave?" Germany wondered. Nobody objected, so the four headed towards the exit.

Just then some fireworks exploded above them. "Veeee~, look!" Veneziano started jumping up and down in excitement.

"Would you like to sit and watch the fireworks, Italy?" Germany's voice was indulgent, maybe only tired; Veneziano happily nodded. The four of them found a bench and sat, with Romano making sure to sit on the end of the bench, flanked by England, so he'd be as far from the potato bastard as possible. He squeezed his dragon mercilessly.

For a while, nobody spoke, other than the oohing and aahing over the fireworks. Romano relaxed his grip on the dragon and looked at his friend out of the corner of his eye. England was staring up into the sky with a distant, almost sad gaze. Were those tears in his eyes? "You all right, bastard?" he asked softly.

"I guess," the island nation replied, turning his head away from the other two. "It's just – you know, fireworks are so interesting and pretty that it's easy to forget they're made of gunpowder. They look nice, but the sounds always take me back to the wars, the artillery fire, and all the pain of that time." He sighed and flexed his hands, looking down, not letting the tears fall. "I hate those memories."

Romano, already quite tired, felt tears spring to his own eyes while remembering those stressful times, and blinked a few times to fight it. He took the hand nearest him. "You – you shouldn't worry about that stuff anymore, bastard. It's a – a long time ago and all over with, now. There's nothing that can be done about that stuff in the past." He raised his other hand to dash the tears from his eyes.

England turned his body towards his friend, blocking him from the others' view. "Yes, but who's to say some tosser won't start it up again? Some empire-building freak? I've been in so many wars, and I hate it…it's draining, and brutal, and useless…and what if we ended up on different sides again?" He ended this in a weak whisper.

At that, Romano stopped fighting the tears and simply let them roll down his cheeks, silent, hot, still looking at England. "D-don't think about that, dammit. And please don't talk about it. We - we'll deal with that if it ever happens, all right?" The blond raised his free hand to wipe the tears from Romano's face. "And – and you know, you know – " He took a few deep breaths, resting his head on England's shoulder, trying to stop crying.

England placed his fingers under his friend's chin and raised his gaze, kissing the tears away. Romano saw the look in his eyes, and knew that no matter how stressful the day had been, everything was still right between them. Had been right, all day long. "Don't cry, please…I – well, I –" He kissed Romano's lips, just once, then leaned forward and hugged him fiercely. "It will be all right."

"I know, bastard. We'll make it all right." He wiped the last traces of tears from his face and they snuggled together to watch the rest of the fireworks, hearts full, content.

…

On the way to the exit they passed the Ferris wheel again. "Look how short the line is," England pointed out. "Can we go on it again? It's a pretty short ride."

"Ve, it might be fun to ride it in the dark! Yes, let's."

"Germany? Romano?"

"Sure, whatever."

"I have no objection."

They let Germany and Veneziano get a little bit ahead of them. "It's getting kind of cold out," Romano noticed.

"Do – do you want to wear my sweater? It's really warm, and I should be all right if you give me your jacket. You know I'm accustomed to colder weather." England blushed while offering this.

"That's – yeah, that's a good idea, bastard. Thank you. Are you wearing anything under the sweater, though?"

"Well, of course I am, git. You think I'd offer to walk around in public bare-chested under your jacket?"

Romano poked him, just for the hell of it, and then set down the dragon and took off his jacket. England struggled out of the sweater, which was sticking to his t-shirt, and Romano couldn't resist poking him again, this time in the exposed belly. "Hey, quit it, that's completely unfair; I'm trying to do something nice for you," came the muffled voice. He finally got the sweater off and handed it to Romano, slipping into the black silk jacket in return.

When Romano pulled the sweater over his head he took a deep breath and smelled that familiar sea-and-moor scent that he loved so much. The sweater was still warm from his friend's body, and he snuggled into it gratefully. "Mm, this is great, bastard. Perfect. Thank you." He rubbed his hands up and down the sleeves a few times. "Yeah."

England looked at the sweater objectively. "That color sucks on you. You look sick."

"Screw you."

"Ah, shut it. Come on, pick up the dragon and let's go, or they'll be done riding before we even get in the line."

But the others were still the last two in line. As they came up, Veneziano eyed the sweater with a sweet, understanding smile, causing Romano to blush hotly, but his brother didn't make any comment. Germany didn't even appear to notice.

This time England and Romano got on the wheel first. When the wheel moved on, they immediately scooted closer together in the dark. "I did have a pretty good day, bastard." He tentatively put an arm around his friend's shoulders. "Here, I got you a little something." He fished around in the pocket of the jacket, blushing. Good thing it was nighttime.

"When?"

"When you and the potato bastard were on the Death thing."

"What is it?" England held out his hand for the small shiny thing he could see flashing in the lights from the park. He raised it up and saw it was a keychain with a tiny plush tomato on it. "Trust you to find a tomato keychain in the middle of a Japanese amusement park." He rubbed it on Romano's nose; his friend snorted and pushed it away. England smiled and tucked it safely back into the pocket, giving Romano a quick hug. "Thanks; it's cute. I'll put it on my keys when we get back to the hotel. And you know I always think of you when I see a tomato. Especially cute ones."

Was this damn blush ever going to go away? "I, uh, that is – I hope you won't want to forget about today. It's been a little – weird."

"What? No! I had a lot of fun. Why, didn't you?" He sounded quite concerned, and lifted a hand to comb his fingers through Romano's hair.

"Cheh, yeah, I guess." There was a short silence. "Yes, I did, bastard. Thanks."

"I'm glad you did. I was a little worried at some points. I kind of thought you'd want to leave those gits and go off on our own, though."

" _Chigi_! That didn't even occur to me. Dammit. Why didn't you say something? Imagine how different the day would have been."

"Well, it wasn't that bad with them, right? Maybe the – the Tunnel of Love thing was kind of – of weird, though."

"Ha, that was actually pretty funny. I'm kind of glad we did it, anyway. I was more freaked out by my brother after the laser thing."

They both spent a little time thinking about that. Romano could tell England was getting sidetracked, because he shifted in his seat and started to breathe a little more heavily. The half-nation tried to distract him from those thoughts. "How about you? Did you enjoy your day?" He moved his mouth closer to England's ear, to whisper, of course, not because he was going to kiss him in public! No matter how dark it was outside.

"Still am enjoying it! The Death Drop was great, and bumper cars with you was bloody awesome _._ You know…I always have fun being with you, no matter how much you drive me nuts." He leaned back with a smile.

Romano nestled closer, resting his chin on England's shoulder. "It's never boring with you; I can say that, bastard. I mean, that sounds pretty trite, dammit, I don't know how else to put it. But – but it's always kind of – of interesting, stimulating, even if we're arguing. I never know how it's going to turn out. I, I don't really mind it…much…" Here, he looked down at his dragon. "As long as we're going to be okay with it in the end."

"You know we will. We always are, right? If everything's all right when we're alone together at the end of the day, that makes me happy." England ruffled his friend's hair again.

"I agree," Romano said, and they began kissing in earnest…since it was nighttime anyway…

…

" _Ve~_ ," Veneziano breathed in relief, looking across the Ferris wheel at his brother and England, backlit by the bright park lights.


	56. Amusement Park, Chapter 6

**Amusement Park, Chapter 6.**

On the way out of the park, Veneziano and Germany had cuddled up together as usual, walking dreamily, not speaking much. Romano was feeling kind of mellow by this point, too. He reached out and took England's hand gently as they walked out of the park in the dark, several yards behind their companions.

"Did we decide where to go eat?" the blond wondered.

"The potato bastard's looking stuff up on his cell phone. I guess they want to go to some local place, get some Japanese food."

"That sounds all right to me. The idea of a good solid meal is sounding really healthy and invigorating right now, after all that ice cream and candyfloss."

The other two waited for them at the corner near the train station. "Ve, we're so tired. Would you mind if we ate at the hotel? Or if you don't want to, we could split up, and Germany and I will eat at the hotel and you can go where you want?" Veneziano was kindly refraining from any pointed comments on their joined hands, although Romano could see that the potato bastard was trying not to stare. Cheh, let him stare. England was an adorable bastard and Romano was happy to be with him. He stepped a little closer to his friend and smirked up at Germany, who actually flinched and turned away. Heh.

"Whatever you want, Romano," England said. "I'm kind of tired too, but I do want to eat something."

"Hell, at this point I'd be happy with room service. I hadn't realized how tired I was until we left the park." He yawned. Of course this made everyone else yawn too.

"Then we should all go back to the hotel. Let's get on the train." Germany led the way.

…

"Thank you again," England said to Veneziano and Germany as they rode the elevator to their hotel rooms. "I have so many good memories of this day." He squeezed Romano's hand.

"Yeah, bastards. I didn't think it was going to be much fun but I really enjoyed it." Romano avoided looking at the potato bastard. There were limits to his gratitude, after all.

"Ve," his brother breathed tiredly. "Me too. We should do it again sometime. Maybe in America! I hear they have very good amusement parks there."

"Italy, please," Germany groaned. "Let's get through today before we start talking about other excursions!"

"You said it, old chap."

…

Back in their room: "Did you really want room service?"

"Sure, why not, bastard? We can try all kinds of weird Japanese stuff without worrying about how we react in front of them."

"Okay, pick out some stuff off the menu and order it." England flopped down on the bed.

"Don't go to sleep! I mean it."

"Sleep! Hah. There's no way I'd fall asleep." He laughed and picked up Romano's dragon. "This thing really is kind of cute. Cute, but dark, just like you." He hugged it. Romano threw the room service menu at him. "Ow."

"Yeah, bastard, there'll be more than 'ow' if you fall asleep. Come on, stand up, look lively." He retrieved the menu and placed the call.

England took off his shoes and Romano's jacket, but he did lie back down on the bed for a while. "I hope you didn't order any of that weird hotel coffee."

"Cheh, no; I got some champagne, though."

"You demon. You're going to kill me."

"Put you in the hospital, maybe." Romano grinned evilly. "You're not the only one with six weeks of frustration to make up for." The blond grabbed him and pulled him onto the bed. "Dammit! Come on, not until after the food gets here."

"Too fucking reasonable again. You really have to let go of this sensible nature of yours, Romano. Let your bloody emotions out." They looked at each other for a second, and laughed together, just as the room service knock came at the door.

…

"You have to tell me something."

"What? And, I don't _have_ to tell you anything, bastard."

"Tell me what Veneziano said to you, to make you go on the roller coaster."

Romano scowled. England waited patiently, nibbling on some food, drinking some champagne, watching.

"Well?" he asked, after about a minute.

"Uh."

"Oh, come on. How bad can it be?"

"It wasn't – wasn't bad _._ He just – I – well, he told me I was being selfish, after you'd gone on the bumper cars with me –"

"Completely true –"

"– and that if I didn't ride on the roller coaster, he was going to take you back to the l-laser thing and – and – set you loose on me."

"And you believed him? Bloody hell, I wouldn't go back to that game for all the tea in China, not if you were around."

"What? Why not? I thought you liked it!"

"I liked it a lot, but it was actually painful to – to calm down afterwards, knowing that you were right there and I couldn't touch you. If you had gone through the actual game with me I might have just thrown you down in a corner of the building somewhere and had my way with you, it was that arousing." England looked off to the side, blushing.

"Huh. Guess it's a good thing I don't like those shooting games," Romano said nonchalantly, drinking his drink. A low growl was the only response.

…

England lay back in the chair. "That was delicious. You made good choices. I'm stuffed." They'd eaten everything they'd ordered.

"Meaning what?"

"Can't move. Let's go soak in the bathtub together."

"Bastard, you read my mind. Bring the champagne."

They looked at the bathtub. "Huh. This bathtub is way too small."

"We're just spoiled by your big bathtub at home. Shower?"

"Oh, let's just get in bed."

…

"So you didn't tell me what we're supposed to be doing tomorrow." They were cuddled up in bed, finishing the last of the champagne, just to get it out of the way. England idly traced circles under Romano's shirt with his fingers.

"Beats me. Sleeping in, I guess."

"Do they know that? Are they going to come knocking at eight again?"

"Bastards. They'd better not."

"Call them up and tell them."

"Chigi! They're probably in the middle of – of something!"

England got a wicked look on his face. "Can you think of a better time to phone them?" He started laughing again.

"You're so fucking evil. And you know, if we hadn't just spent the day having fun with – with them, I might have done it. But they don't deserve to be interrupted any more than we do. Besides…I'm a little worried about what my brother might do, if I piss him off."

"Huh. You're still too bloody reasonable. But I can let it slide this time. Put a note on the door."

"I already put the 'Do Not Disturb' sign up."

"You think that's enough? Put up a handwritten note. Here, I'll do it." England climbed out of bed to write a note and poked a hole in it to slide it over the door handle. "Done." He turned around to see Romano, now naked, snuggled under the covers. "What the hell? How do you always manage get your kit off so fast?"

"Never mind that," Romano purred. "Now take off your clothes, angel; get back in this bed, and tell me, in great detail, all about that laser maze."

"Yes, sir," England grinned, jumping on the bed.

…

 _I don't know anything about Japanese amusement parks. Everything they did during this date was something you can do at most American amusement parks. I didn't want to write it as an American park, though, because if America had surplus tickets, he would have given them to England, and in that case, they would never have asked Veneziano and Germany to join them; they would have asked Prussia and Denmark. Japan was my plausible excuse for getting these four together on a double date._


	57. Knitting Expo

**Knitting Expo.**

"Hey, bastard, what are you doing this weekend?"

There was a silence, and then England cleared his throat.

Romano scowled at the phone. "What's that supposed to mean, dammit?"

"Well, I have a plan, and you're welcome to join me, but…you might find it a bit…girly?"

"Huh. Tell me what it is, and I'll tell you if it's too girly for me."

"There's a knitting expo in London that I wanted to go to on Saturday."

"What the hell's a knitting expo?"

"It's where a lot of vendors and designers get together to showcase new yarns and patterns for the upcoming year."

Now there was a silence at Romano's end. Eventually he said, "I thought you said you didn't knit much anymore?"

"That was true, but I've started up again. I – have some ideas of things to knit. But – did you have something you wanted to do this weekend?"

"Not really, just thought we could get together."

"I could come down on Sunday?"

Romano was feeling generous. "Why don't I come up on Friday and stay the weekend? We can go to your knitting show thing, and then have Saturday night and Sunday together."

"You'd do that? That's…surprisingly open-minded of you, git."

"If it makes you happy, idiot…"

"Yes, all right. It shouldn't take too long, anyway. Maybe two hours tops, probably less than that. What time Friday will you get here, do you think?"

"Say after six sometime. Do I need to bring anything special?"

"What? Like what?"

"I don't know! That's why I'm asking!"

"I can't think of anything you'd need to bring. Just your hot little self."

Romano growled into the phone. "Fine, bastard, I'll see you on Friday."

…

The brunet was astonished at the size, the crowds, the noise level in this very large place. As they walked along they were constantly jostled by the throng of mostly women; of course, they were also appraised a bit, since there were so few other men in the place. They each got a cup of coffee before beginning to wander the aisles. The colors and variety of yarns were very distracting, and they stopped every few booths so that England could fondle some yarn and look at the designs.

"Is there something in particular you wanted to see?" Romano finally asked.

"Well…yes, I want to visit the Rowan booth. They're the ones who make the fuzzy sweater yarn."

"Yeah, I'd like to see that too, bastard. Let's go there. Anything else?"

"Not really, just want to look at new yarns for the fall. I don't need to really look at patterns. Since most knitters are women, most of the designers are showcasing women's patterns, and I don't knit for any women."

They reached the Rowan booth and surprisingly, Romano managed to find the very fuzzy yarn almost immediately. "Hey, uh, bastard…"

"You want me to knit you a sweater, don't you?"

"How the hell did you know what I was going to say?"

"For crying out loud, how much more obvious could you make it!" They glared at each other in front of the yarn bins.

Eventually Romano dropped his gaze. "Yes, I was going to ask you to knit me a sweater. Just like yours, but better colors?"

"What's wrong with the colors in mine?"

"You said they made me look sick, dammit!"

"They do!"

"Well, then?"

Another impasse. Then England growled and pulled out the bins of yarn. "Black is probably the best base for you," he said, trying to stay calm. "What kind of colors do you want to go with it? I was thinking two different colors, because then the design will look different, and we won't look like matching idiots if we happen to wear them at the same time."

"You fucking bastard," Romano said after a minute of silence.

"What?"

"You were already planning to knit me one, weren't you? You absolute _bastard._ " He kicked England in the shin.

"Ow. Stop that. So, do you want one or not?"

"Yes _,_ dammit. Let me look at the colors."

Eventually they chose teal and midnight blue to go with the black. "Wow, this is dark, git, but I like it. Suits you."

"Shut up."

They paid for the yarn and browsed the aisles for a while, but nothing else interested England enough to purchase. Since the noise level was getting pretty extreme, they moved to the refreshments area to sit down. "What surprises me about all this is how – how artistic it really is," Romano mused, having a second cup of coffee. "I tend to think of knitting as being old ladies in rocking chairs, making doilies, but there are some hardcore things here, and amazing varieties of yarn. And the age range of the people is pretty wide, too."

"You think this is hardcore, you should see some of the expos in America. They had a fashion show with models in knitted underwear, and it was bizarre. Yarn made from stainless steel, and sugar, and recycled plastic bags! That idiot always has disco lighting and loud music and rubbish like that, too. At least here we're a little more discreet."

"What do you do, visit these things all over the world? Huh."

"No. I actually haven't been to one in about five years; that was this same show. And then before that, maybe ten years ago in Washington. That's about the time people started organizing these events. I just happened to be over there for a meeting so I stopped by."

"What other kind of artistic stuff do you do that I don't know about?"

England gave him a funny look. "How would I know what you don't know about? Wanker." Romano just rolled his eyes and drank more coffee. The blond thought about this for a minute. "Not much," he said vaguely. "I try to sketch, paint, stuff like that, but…I'm no good at it. Needlecrafts are about the only thing I can do well."

"Bastard, don't put yourself down like that. Maybe you should get a sketchbook; next time we go somewhere worth sketching, we can draw together. I'm sure you have artistic talent somewhere in there."

"Screw you." He grinned at Romano. "Anyway, I'm done here; if you want to leave, we can go get some dinner or something."

"Sure. Just – not an English restaurant, all right?"

"Bastard _,"_ England smirked, and they left the expo.


	58. Making Zabaglione

**Making Zabaglione.**

"I have an idea, bastard."

"Er…for what?" The two of them lay on the bed relaxing after spending the day wandering around Rome.

"Well…I'm kind of nervous about this one, but…here it is. I thought maybe we could cook together, make some zabaglione, and then bring it back to the bedroom and play?"

England gave his friend a very funny look. "Why exactly would you be nervous about something like that?"

Romano blushed and looked up at the ceiling. "Huh."

"Come on, you can't leave that dangling. What's bothering you?"

"It's, well…you kind of have a, a reputation."

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"With cooking, dammit!" Then he covered his face with his hands. "Dammit." He knew the blond would be pissed off about that.

"I have a reputation with cooking," England deadpanned. "And so you don't want me to help you make zabaglione, because you're afraid I'll bollocks it up somehow."

Romano didn't answer, which was really all the answer required.

The island nation continued, "Then why did you suggest it, wanker? You really are impossible." He rolled away from his friend, offended.

"Because, you idiot, I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt!" Romano tugged on his shoulder to roll him back, and found that England was shaking with silent laughter.

"Aha, gotcha, git." He started laughing out loud, poking Romano in the chest, and the brunet grabbed him for a hug.

"You are such a bastard!"

"I know."

This illuminating conversation was interrupted for a little bout of kissing, but then England put his mind back to the discussion. "So, what then? If we don't cook together, what is the plan?"

"I don't really have another plan. I realize it's kind of – of tame, but…?"

"Tame is all right. As long as we're being tame together, right?"

More kissing.

"Tell you what, I promise I'll let you do all the cooking. I'll help with stuff like getting the ingredients for you or cleaning up, but I won't get involved with the cooking. Do you think that will work?"

"So fucking understanding, I can't take it," Romano groaned melodramatically. "I may faint."

"I'll make you faint, wanker, once we have that zabaglione in hand."

"In _hand_ isn't quite what I had in mind."

"Shut it."

…

England's brain was awhirl with ideas…sexy ideas that could take place in a kitchen full of interesting foodstuffs, but it seemed Romano genuinely wanted to cook.

"Get the eggs out of the refrigerator, bastard."

"How many? The whole box? How much of this stuff are we going to make?"

"Get the whole carton; we'll just put back what we don't need."

England fetched the eggs.

"All right, hold on, I need to get my mixer." Romano got out his stick mixer and bowl and a saucepan. "Put some water in this pan." He handed it to the blond.

"'Some water'? How much is 'some water'? Half full? A few drops?"

"Dammit, you really don't know how to cook, do you? About an inch."

"Hey, I've never made this stuff before, git, how would I know? What good is an inch of water going to do, anyway?"

Romano didn't answer. When the water was in the pan, England tried to hand it to him, but he was busy rummaging around in a cabinet. "What, bastard?"

"Well, what should I do with it?"

"What do you normally do with a saucepan, idiot? Put it on the stove." Romano unearthed the Marsala wine and stood up.

"Don't get so shirty with me. I'm trying to help. Should I turn the stove on?"

"Do you think it will get hot if you don't? Chigi!" He stalked over and turned on the burner. "Dammit, the amount of help you're providing isn't quite what I'd hoped for. Look in my spice cabinet for sugar and salt." He pointed to the cabinet.

"There's a lot of different sugar in here. Powdered, light brown, dark brown, cane…?"

"Just cane. That other shit isn't right for this." He dug out a glass bowl. "Do you have it?"

"Impatient boy. Yes, I have it." England brought the sugar over to where Romano was working.

"What about the salt?"

"Oops." England went back for the salt. "Kosher salt, regular salt, sea salt? Bloody hell, who knew there were so many kinds of salt?"

"Regular salt is fine, dammit! Just bring it over." Romano ground his teeth as he began to separate the eggs from their yolks.

England brought the salt over and stood watching, fascinated. "What are you doing?"

"Grr. Am I teaching a cooking lesson here?"

"Maybe if you did, I wouldn't be so bad at cooking!" England slipped an arm around his shoulders and tried to kiss his ear.

"Stop that; you're distracting me. Anyway, what I am doing is separating the egg whites from the egg yolks. You don't use the whites in zabaglione."

"Why not?"

"It makes it a richer custard if you leave them out. Plus then I can use them for a meringue or something later on."

"Mm, meringue." England got a little distracted by that.

"Focus, please."

"Yes, yes, all right, git. You're the one who brought it up."

Romano had finished separating the eggs. "Here, put these into a container in the fridge."

"Where are the containers?"

"Dammit! Do I have to do everything myself?" He put the egg yolks and sugar into the glass bowl carefully.

"Bollocks, Romano, will you please listen to yourself? How the hell can I put this in a container if I don't know where they are?"

"Just – just go look around the kitchen, look in the cabinets, until you find something to put it in, all right? Feel free to open every cabinet and be as nosy as you like, just stop asking stupid questions."

"Wanker." England went to investigate all the cabinets while Romano mixed the zabaglione. "Is this all right?" he finally asked, holding up a little glass bowl with a lid.

"Yes, that's fine. Put it in the fridge." He was still working the hand mixer. "Put the rest of the eggs away, too."

After England had put those things away, he came back to the counter. "Why are you still mixing?"

"Bastard."

"I just want to understand. Isn't it mixed already? You've been mixing for a long time now."

"It's to aerate it. You don't want custard that's going to sit in your stomach like a lump of cement, do you?"

"No. Is there anything else you want me to do?"

"Open that wine. You can do that, can't you?"

"How inept do you think I am? No, don't answer that." He bent his attention to opening the Marsala and presented it to Romano with a flourish. This maneuver was wasted, as his friend was busy adding salt to the bowl.

Romano growled, turning his back to England. "Just give me the wine." Without looking at him, he held out his hand for the bottle.

The blond rolled his eyes, but handed it over, resting his elbows on the counter and watching the process. He was astonished to see that Romano merely poured some wine into the mixture without measuring. "Don't you…" He really didn't want to get his friend irritated any more, so he silenced himself.

"What now, bastard? You might as well ask."

"Don't you have to measure it?"

"Cheh, I've made zabaglione so much that I can do it by eyeballing it. Don't worry about it."

"You must be really good. I can memorize recipes, but anytime I try estimating without my measuring cups, it turns out a total dog's breakfast."

"I'm guessing that means 'total disaster'?" Romano grinned, but didn't look up from the bowl. "Is that water boiling yet?"

The blond peeked into the saucepan. "Yes _._ "

"All right, move out of the way." He carried the bowl and mixer to the stove and gently put the glass bowl into the saucepan, then reduced the heat to a simmer.

"Bloody hell, this is fascinating. Why did you do that?"

"If it boils, it'll cook too fast, and we'll just have gross eggs."

"No, git, I mean, why put the glass bowl into the water?"

"Cooks slower, and more gently." He plugged in the mixer and began to stir the custard in its glass bowl again.

"And you're still mixing. Bollocks. This cooking stuff is a lot harder than I'd ever realized."

Romano burst into laughter. "Well, if you don't take the time to do it right, bastard, you're always going to fail, you know."

"You're telling me. Maybe I should take some lessons." He sneaked up behind Romano and put his arms around his waist, resting his chin on the brunet's shoulder. "Will you teach me how to cook?"

"No way. Too much of a time commitment," he snorted. "Just go sit down while I finish this."

"Can I drink some of this wine?"

"Dammit! No. Put the cork back in."

"Why not? It smells good."

"Just – save it. It's a dessert wine."

"Aha, we can drink it – later," the island nation said suggestively.

"Is that all you ever think about?"

"Of course not, wanker! I'm thinking about meringue, and cooking, and…all sorts of things."

"Yeah," Romano agreed slowly, with a smirk. "Hey, there's a bowl of fresh berries in the refrigerator; get it out, all right?"

When the berries were on the counter, Romano tested the temperature of the custard. "Almost there."

"Is this an 'eat it while it's hot' thing, or not?"

"It can be, if you need it to be fresh, but I don't want us to burn our – ourselves, so I thought we'd let it cool off a little first." Here, the brunet blushed, not looking up from the stove.

"Aha! You are thinking about sex!"

"Shut up, bastard." But he did get a little smile on his face. "Open up the wine again, and we can have some while we wait."

With a grin, England hastened to comply. Tonight was going to be delicious _._


	59. Sauced on Coffee

**Sauced on Coffee.**

England and Romano had finished the zabaglione and sat down to eat it, when the doorbell rang. "Dammit." The brunet ran off to answer it.

The island nation heard some loud voices and a slamming door, and then his friend came back with Prussia and Denmark in tow. "Arthur!" The albino dropped his bag and ran over to hug his awesome gamer friend.

"Hello, Gilbert _."_ He used one arm to squeeze him briefly around the waist without getting up. Romano merely shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"What the hell's all that about?" Den asked.

"Bastards. Some secret club handshake kind of thing. They won't tell me."

Denmark and Prussia sat at the table with them and Romano resignedly got some extra plates and spoons to serve them some dessert. "What are you wankers doing here, anyway? I didn't realize you had plans for tonight, Romano," England said, with a bit of a dangerous look in his eye.

"No, no, he didn't have any plans," Denmark put in. "We were in the area and tired, so we thought of coming and spending the night here!"

Both England and Romano looked at their overnight bags. "So you _just happened_ to bring overnight stuff, bastards?"

"Kesesese, he's so observant, Den, I told you he'd figure it out. No, we were totally bored, and West wouldn't let us hang around the house, so we decided on a road trip."

"Why wouldn't Germany let you hang around? You're such _calm, easygoing_ gits…"

Denmark ignored this. "Got anything to drink?"

"Coffee's the only thing I'm going to serve you with zabaglione, dammit. If you want anything else you'll have to wait until we're done with the dessert."

"Yeah, give me some coffee, I guess."

"Any of you other bastards want coffee?"

"Yes, please," from England, and "Yes, yes, yes!" from Prussia.

"Fine." Romano left to go make coffee.

"So what kind of plans do you and Romano have for tonight?"

"Nothing, really," England answered, "we cooked the dessert together, and that was about all we'd decided on, so far."

Prussia was eagerly eating his dessert, even though Romano hadn't returned with the coffee yet. "This is awesome stuff."

"Wait, wait," Denmark said, looking doubtfully at his dessert dish. "Romano let _you_ help cook?"

"Wanker! I can cook!"

Unfortunately Romano returned to the room in time to hear this and snorted. "I let him _help_ ," he pointed out. "Even so, we almost screwed it up. The bastard is unbelievable."

"You're always so bloody _nice_ to me. Git. I did my best."

"That's what worries me!"

Coffee in hand, everyone sat down to enjoy the delicious dessert. "Mm. Is there any more of this? I love coming to your house, Romano, it's always so tasty!"

"That's all I am to you bastards, a restaurant, isn't it?"

"Completely not true! You are also an awesome hotel!"

"Hey," Romano growled to England, nudging him with his elbow, "come out into the kitchen for a minute." They left the room to the accompaniment of some not-so-thinly-veiled snickering from Prussia.

"I know you weren't planning to stay tonight, but…could you? I, uh, I really don't want to deal with that bastard on my own, and ever since the gaming night you seem to be able to handle him a little better."

"Huh. That's the only reason you want me to stay."

"Dammit!" Romano hissed. "It's not like we can – can –"

England poked him. "That wasn't what I meant anyway, git, I meant you didn't want me to stay for my charming companionship."

His friend snorted and punched him in the arm. "So will you stay?"

"After you insulted my cooking help?"

Romano growled again.

England caved. "Yes, all right. I don't mind. You just want me to babysit Prussia, then?"

"Please."

"Wow. You never say please. I'll do it."

"Good, let's go back in there."

…

"So, Gilbert…has Germany given you any work to do?"

"No." They'd moved to the living room; Romano was in the kitchen, brewing more coffee. "But, let's be fair, Arthur, I haven't asked him again yet."

"Seriously, what are you two up to?" Denmark asked, sipping the remains of his cold coffee. "What's all this Gilbert and Arthur nonsense?"

"It's really not that important. I don't know why you and Romano are getting so worked up about it, Den."

Romano came back with the pot of coffee as Prussia said this. "Cheh, I'm not worked up about it, bastards. You can call each other Lucy and Ethel if you want to."

"Huh. I wanna be Lucy," Prussia laughed.

"Figures. Wanker."

"I think we need something stronger to drink," Denmark said to Romano.

"I agree. I'll be right back."

However, much to Denmark's surprise, Romano did not return with booze, but with espresso.

"What are you trying to do to me?"

"What are you talking about? It's just espresso. Best stuff on the planet."

Denmark growled, but then he noticed both England and Prussia were eagerly drinking the bitter brew, so he drank his as well. "You know this is going to end up keeping me awake all night."

"Sounds like it's time for one of your stupid bets," England scoffed.

"Yes, yes!" from Prussia. "First one to fall asleep loses."

"No, bastard. Last one awake wins. Remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Okay. Bring some more espresso."

"Chigi! I'm _not_ a fucking waiter _,_ albino potato!"

"Fine. Tell me how to use the machine and I'll do it. This stuff is awesome." Prussia drank the dregs.

"Wait a minute, that's really a stupid bet. You're _all_ going to be awake extra-late tonight. You should say 'first one asleep wins.'" This sounded reasonable to the island nation.

"That could work. Let's think about it."

"Uh – Romano – are we really sure this is a good idea?" Denmark asked. "Remember when we were at the coffee shop and they kicked us out because of Prussia?"

Oh yeah. "Hmm. Well, I don't mind trying it. At least we're in my house and not a public place. Just don't break anything, bastard."

"Kesesese! I won't. I promise."

England sighed. "Want me to go make more espresso?"

"Please?" Romano tried to give him a sweet, appealing grin, but he just couldn't manage it.

"Twice 'please' in one night? Bloody hell. I'm glad I stayed! This is going to be some kind of record. You're going to owe me." He grinned a little maliciously at Romano, who shrugged dismissively.

England then whisked back into the kitchen to brew some more espresso.

Denmark finally finished his first little cup. "I do drink this once in a while. It isn't so bad. It's a little bitter, but no worse than some beers. It just worries me that I'm going to be bouncing off the walls all night."

"It's way better than beer, bastard."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Prussia said in a rather declamatory tone. "I don't think you can actively compare beer to espresso. However, that said, I do have to tell you this is some freakishly delicious espresso." Both his friends looked at him very, very strangely, and he recoiled from the intense stares. "What? What? I just thought I'd elevate the tone of our usual discussions!"

"I thought our usual discussions were awesome? How can you elevate awesome?" Den asked irritably.

"Shut up and drink, my Danish friend," Prussia said airily. He then yelled out, "Hey, Ethel! Where's the espresso?"

From the kitchen: "You're a wanker, Lucy!"

…

"So…what does the winner get?" asked England, after they'd settled in with the next round of espresso.

"Oh yeah! We didn't even talk about it. Well?"

They were all silent for a little while, thinking about this.

"I can't think of anything."

"Because your brain is made of potatoes."

"Will you two just shut up?" Denmark looked really angry. "I can't take much more of this." The other three all stared at him in astonishment. England even backed away from him a little. "What? What are you all looking at me like that for?"

"You – you just seem to be…overreacting?" Prussia suggested. "We always talk to each other this way!"

"Seriously, bastard, maybe you should stop drinking the espresso."

"Only if we're going to switch to booze. I don't need to be keyed up any more than usual."

"You can't do that. You'd pass out, and win the bet, which is completely unfair to the rest of us." Romano smirked.

"Doubt it. I bet I can get bombed and _still_ stay up later than you three." Denmark buffed his nails on his shirt.

"Now that _would_ be awesome, but…no, Den, absolutely not. It's not right for you to be drinking wine while the rest of us are drinking espresso. You have to have espresso or coffee. Or decaf. No booze."

"What? That's idiotic!"

"No, git, it's not. I agree with Gilbert and Romano. If you switch to booze you automatically lose the bet."

"Son of a bitch," Denmark muttered. "Ganging up on me? I expected better from you guys." The other three stared at him resolutely. "Fine. I'll take regular coffee next time. Decaf is way too girly."

"Good, because I don't usually have any decaf in the house, bastard! Hang on; let me go get a pot of coffee started. Think about what we're going to do tonight. I don't want to sit around and argue about coffee all night while we wait for someone to fall asleep."

He returned with a lazy grin. "The coffee's brewing. Should be done in about ten minutes."

"You really need some video games, Romano."

" _Chigi_! No, because then you'd be over here _all the time_ , when the potato bastard kicked you out. There is no way I'm getting a video game console. _No way_."

"How about a board game?" Denmark suggested. "At least if you had Monopoly or something it would take us a long time to finish the game, while we waited to fall asleep."

"I have Monopoly. Want to do that?" Romano headed towards the closet.

"Is it Italian Monopoly, though? I don't read Italian very well."

"What? You dumb albino bastard. How can you call yourself 'awesome' if you don't read Italian? No, don't answer that, I don't even want to get into it. I have Italian Monopoly and regular Monopoly." He rummaged around in the closet. "Which one do we want?"

"What? _What_?" England's voice was panicky. Romano turned to see him recoiling from the concerned stares of the other two.

"Oh," Romano realized.

"'Oh' _what?_ What's the _matter_ with you gits?"

"Regular Monopoly is American, Arthur. Are you sure you're all right with it?"

"You three really are complete idiots, you know that? It's just a damn board game! And besides, I've never been to Atlantic City, so…don't be delicate about trampling on my bad memories. I _have_ no memories of that place."

"Suit yourself," Romano said, pulling out the regular Monopoly box.

…

An hour later, tempers were flaring as dice rolled and cash changed hands. Romano and England had taken turns continuing to serve espresso and coffee to their friends. Surprisingly, Prussia was quite well-behaved, except when he managed to score a wad of cash from one of the others due to his intense hotel-building schemes. Denmark, on the other hand, was furious. "Damn you, Prussia! Stop cheating!"

"Gilbert isn't cheating. I've been watching to make sure."

"That hurts, Arthur, that really hurts, that you think I'd be cheating."

"I bet you would, though, bastard."

"Kesesese! Maybe. But tonight I'm just having fun watching Den lose his temper."

"It's not _fun._ Look, let's take a little break." Denmark sat up and stretched.

"Good idea. Why don't we set up the blankets and stuff now, then we won't have to do it later?" Prussia turned a beaming grin to Romano.

"Cheh, yes, all right, you come help me," he agreed, poking the albino. The two of them left the room.

"Seriously, Denmark, are you all right?" the island nation asked quietly. He moved the Monopoly board and things to the center of the floor so they'd all have room to spread out around it.

"It's this damned caffeine! Ah, I'm going to use the bathroom, I'll be right back." England watched him slope off and went to the kitchen for more espresso and to start a fresh pot of coffee to keep Denmark on track. He idly read the bag of coffee beans, smiling and waiting for his espresso to finish brewing. When it was all done, he carried everything out to the living room.

"Here, bastard, set up your bed." Romano threw a pillow and blanket at England, taking care not to disturb the Monopoly board. He grabbed his own pillow and covers and set it up so he could lie down while playing the game.

"Wait, wait, we should make it like a map, or a compass! That would be awesome!"

"What are you talking about _now?"_

"Well, if I sleep on the east side of the board…and you sleep on the south side…then Den can sleep on the north side, and Ig-Arthur on the west? Right?"

"Whatever makes you happy, albino potato." They arranged themselves according to Prussia's new scheme and settled in.

When Denmark returned there were no more blankets or pillows left. "What? Why didn't you get me any blankets?"

"Whoops." Prussia blushed in embarrassment.

England started laughing at the look on his face, but Romano realized what had happened. "Sorry, Den, I forgot the mystic bastard was here, and I only brought enough bed stuff for three. I'll go get some more."

"You… _forgot_ …England was here?" Denmark's eyes widened and he stepped back from where the island nation was reclining.

England, on the other hand, surprised them all by merely flapping his hand. "I'm used to the wanker's inattention," he snorted, counting his Monopoly cash, "especially when you gits are here. Just get Den some stuff."

"Oh, boy…you two have the weirdest relationship," Prussia laughed.

…

"Romano…I think we need to eat something. I feel like I'm floating away."

"Can't handle caffeine, can't handle coffee, I tell you, Den, you're a total lightweight."

"Shut up." Denmark punched Prussia in the arm. Prussia retaliated.

"Stop fighting in my house, please. Let's go into the kitchen and see what we can find. Hey, albino potato, make Denmark some more coffee. I'll do more espresso when we get the food figured out." Prussia moved to comply, reading the bag of beans and grinning while the coffee brewed.

England rummaged in the pantry while Romano looked in the fridge. They found some cookies, the remains of a cake, and the end of the zabaglione.

"Sugar and caffeine? Not sure Prussia can handle it," Den sneered, and Prussia, strangely calm, simply poked him in the arm.

"You're too tense tonight, Denmark. So not awesome."

"Stop giving me coffee!"

"Then you lose the bet, git."

"Kesesese!" Prussia realized. "Denmark is _sauced on coffee!_ "

Romano and even Denmark laughed at that one. The island nation just focused on his dessert, not really wanting to know.

…

By the time they'd finished the game, it was nearing sunrise. "Hey, are any of you bastards sleepy yet? Want to go out and get breakfast?"

"Might as well," Prussia replied. "Since Arthur cleaned us out at Monopoly. I'm never playing you at Monopoly again."

"Soon we're going to run out of things to play, Gilbert, if you refuse to play because I keep beating you!"

"Chigi! Forget about that. Who's driving?"

"I'll drive," Denmark offered. "I think I _am_ sauced on coffee." He gave a short laugh and ruffled his own spiky hair.

…

They slipped into a diner booth. Adrenaline and caffeine were beginning to drain away, and they were all looking a little tired, but nobody felt like sleeping yet. "May I take your order?" the waitress asked. "Coffee for anyone?"

Denmark groaned and put his head on the table. "Orange juice… _please_ …" he begged.

"Orange juice for everyone," said the albino airily, and the waitress left. Denmark kept his head on the table.

"That was a very fun night, Romano! Thanks for letting us stay."

"Yes, fine, whatever. Next time we have to stay somewhere else."

"You're always welcome to stay at my place, if West doesn't try to kick us out."

"Forget it! Forget I said anything! I don't want to stay there!"

The waitress returned with the orange juice and they placed their orders. Denmark returned his head to the circle of his arms. England nudged Romano with his elbow and pointed to Denmark. "Think he's asleep?"

"Nah, he's just faking it."

"I don't know about that." This from Prussia. "I've read that with an overabundance of caffeine the body can switch right over into sleep. Like crashing."

Both his friends stared at him. "Elevating the tone of our discussions again, bastard?"

"Something like that."

"But, _I_ have read that espresso actually contains less caffeine than regular drip coffee," England put in. "People think espresso is stronger, because it tastes stronger, but it's not."

This brought Denmark's head right off the table. "You've been _cheating_!" he yelled, then lowered his voice when he noticed other restaurant patrons staring at him. "You gave me stronger coffee _on purpose_?"

The other three looked at each other and laughed. "As a matter of fact, no, bastard. We've been giving you decaf all night." They laughed some more at the Dane's perplexed expression.

"You _what_? You said you didn't have any decaf!"

"I said I didn't _think_ I had any decaf. But I did. Wanted to see how you'd react."

"I noticed that when I made you a pot of coffee, wanker, but figured Romano had done it for a joke, so I didn't say anything."

"And I noticed it when we were looking for something to eat and I made you a pot of coffee, Den! Kesesese!"

Denmark put his head down on the table again and groaned. "I think I should automatically win the bet." The other three stared at him in silence for so long that he raised his head again. "What? It makes sense to me."

"There's something wrong with your brain, you Nordic idiot," Prussia said, cuffing him lightly. "If you drank _decaf_ all night… _and_ you failed to fall asleep _anyway_ , then…you can't possibly win the bet! You could only win if you'd been drinking – uh – whatd'youcallit – 'real-caf'?"

"You gits didn't even decide what the winner was going to get, so you might as well just forget the whole bet."

Some bemused thinking about this, while the waitress brought their meals.

"Yes, you're right. Nobody wins."

"Bastards."

Denmark just shook his head. "Never has a nation felt so cheated by his allies."

"Shut up and eat. I want to get back home and go to bed."

…


	60. Special Day

**Special Day.**

"So what are you doing this weekend?" Romano asked. He was cooking and had the phone wedged between his shoulder and ear. Dammit, he really needed to get some kind of headset if he planned to talk to England while he was cooking. This was always so awkward.

"Can I come down for a visit? I thought I'd come down Saturday morning and stay overnight, if you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind; I'd like that. I'll make a cake or something."

"We could make a cake together?"

"No, we couldn't!"

"Git. Anyway, I have to go; I have to get to the shops. I'm out of butter and olive oil."

"You keep olive oil in the house? That's surprising."

"Well, I've been trying to cook Italian stuff recently, but I don't think I'm good enough to spring it on you yet!"

"Thank you, bastard," Romano replied fervently.

"Ah, shut it; I'll see you Saturday."

…

When the island nation arrived he had a request. "May I put my things in the guest room?"

"What? Why?"

"Er, no real reason, I just want to put them in there." He reddened. Bloody hell, he was never any good at this subtle stuff.

"Are you mad at me? Why do you want to stay in the guest room, dammit?"

Bollocks, he'd known Romano would get suspicious. "I don't want to stay in the guest room! I just want to put my bag in there!" They stared at each other wildly for a minute before Romano flapped his hand towards the guest room.

"Go for it, mystic bastard; you drive me crazy, but, whatever." He stalked off to the kitchen and England hurried to stow his suitcase in the guest room, removing his clothes from the bag and hanging them neatly.

They spent the day idly wandering around the city; it was early fall, just barely cold enough for jackets. Topics of conversation ranged from cooking to travel to movies; Romano seemed to be forgetting the strange discussion they'd had when England had arrived.

At about three o'clock England suddenly said, "Well, we should be getting back now."

"Uh, you've got something up your sleeve, don't you, bastard?"

"Why on earth would you think that?" But England felt his face get extremely red, and he wouldn't look at his friend.

Romano just laughed at him. "This is going to be a very funny night if you keep pretending you're not up to something. I'm actually looking forward to it."

"Good."

"Aha! See, you do have something planned. But…it's not my birthday, or Christmas…?"

"Just – just, whatever," England finally said. Romano shrugged. They walked back to his house in silence.

…

"So, wanker, why don't we go out someplace nice for dinner? You always cook and I hate making you slave over a hot stove." This entirely reasonable suggestion was completely ruined, because England kept staring artificially off into the distance, trying to act nonchalant and failing miserably.

Romano narrowed his eyes. "This isn't some stupid party thing, is it? I don't want to have to deal with those two tonight."

"What? Who two?"

"Den and the albino potato!"

"What?" England replied. "No, it has nothing to do with them. I just thought you and I could enjoy a nice meal somewhere, instead of you having to cook!"

"Cheh, yes, but you don't have any nice clothes with you, do you? And you won't fit in my stuff, or my brother's."

The blond turned airy and nonchalant again. "Oh, I did bring a suit this time." He reddened but tried to keep his expression straight.

Romano just shook his head. "You are so fucking bad at this. Well, as long as nobody else is going to be joining us, I don't mind. Tell me what you want me to wear. Oh – except, probably all the elegant places are going to be booked up tonight. We should have made reservations."

"Er."

"Er, what?"

"I, well, never mind, let's just go and see if we can get a table somewhere." He ran his hands through his hair. "Bloody hell."

"Whatever you say. Come on up, show me what you want me to wear."

They spent a pleasant hour in Romano's bedroom, trying on and removing suits, playing a little together each time he got undressed. Eventually they both felt a shower was a good idea. England refrained from suggesting they shower together, though. He went into his guest bathroom to shower and left Romano to get clean in his own bathroom.

…

"Hey, we look really good tonight, bastard! This was a good idea, assuming we can find a restaurant."

"You always look good to me, Romano, but yeah, we do look pretty spiffing." Both of them blushed. "Come on, I have an idea of a place I want to check out first."

They went to a new, elegant restaurant that Romano had been wanting to try, but it was always booked a long time in advance. "Bastard, we're never going to get in here."

"Can't you pull some strings? I'm sure they'd love to have you here." England walked into the lobby. "Just tell them who you are." Romano was not to know that England had made the reservations in his name a couple of weeks ago.

"I'll ask, since I'm with you, but I hate manipulating people that way." Romano stepped to the podium and flashed the hostess a nice smile. A moment of conversation and she graciously led them to a table.

"See, git? Easy. You're too uptight."

When they had been seated, both of them looked around at the décor, the patrons. "This _is_ a very nice place. I'm glad you had this idea, whatever your mysterious reasons are. Thanks."

England gave him the sweet smile. "By the way, this is my treat."

The Italian got a nervous look on his face again. The table was nice and secluded; a vase with lilies and daisies sat on the table; he didn't even notice it.

The two of them had a delicious, leisurely dinner, again speaking of nothing in particular, sharing a bottle of wine. "Mm, I'm feeling very mellow," the brunet finally announced. "You've been surprisingly calm tonight, too."

"I'm just happy that we got to have our nice elegant dinner together."

"So that's really all this was? Just an elegant dinner? Nothing else up your sleeve?" Romano was watching him carefully. England fought to keep his composure, but he couldn't do it, and slid his eyes away nervously.

"Huh," Romano went on. "Well, what next?" They paid the bill and left the restaurant.

"Nothing in particular. We can go back to your place now."

"Seriously? You confuse me, bastard."

"Like you don't ever confuse me? Ha."

…

Romano felt a little nervous when they got back. "Uh…you are staying with me tonight, right? I mean, in my room?"

"Of course I am! Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know! I'm just nervous."

His friend came to embrace and kiss him. "Don't be nervous. Change into something more comfortable and let's make a fire in your room. It would be nice to snuggle up for a while before bed."

"Y-yes." He got a grip on himself. England wasn't going to do anything scary _._ Romano trusted him. "Fine. Go get changed and come to my room."

He'd finished building the fire when England came back in, blushing, wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt. He was holding something behind his back which he slipped under the bedcovers. He probably thought Romano hadn't noticed that, but he had. Then the blond stammered out, "W-want to move the couch over in front of the fire? It would be more comfy than sitting on the floor."

Romano could see how nervous he was, so he decided just to roll with it. "Sure, bastard, give me a minute." He lit the fire and they pushed the couch into position.

"Sit down," England commanded. Romano sat. His friend hadn't used the words "git" or "wanker" for several hours, which was fairly worrying in itself.

England paced a little before coming to join him on the couch, sitting next to him, and then turning to put his legs across the half-nation's lap and embrace him with one arm. He offered a hesitant little smile before quickly burying his face in the dark hair and taking a deep breath. "Bastard, what? Is something wrong? Are you sick?" Romano put an arm around his friend and stroked the fair hair with his other hand.

"No, no. Just –" He drew back to look at his friend. "Do you – oh, bloody hell." He put his face against Romano's hair again.

"You sure you're all right?"

"Yes, wanker, I'm all right!"

Well, that was more like it. "Good. I hate it when you start acting all mysterious."

"You're a git."

Hmm. Things seemed to be right back to normal. "So are you, bastard; what the hell is going on tonight?"

England blew out a sigh. "Do you remember our kissing lessons?" He put both arms around Romano's neck and hugged him tightly.

"Of course I do, stupid! What kind of a question is that?"

The blond drew back and looked at him again, this time irritated. Romano was quite puzzled.

"You are a world-class wanker. Tomorrow is the anniversary of our kissing lessons."

"O-oh." He thought about this. "Oh," was again all he could manage, but he did lean forward to kiss his friend. "Bastard," he murmured into England's mouth.

"Shut it. Kiss me some more."

They spent a few pleasing minutes just kissing each other, thinking about that day.

"You're such a sentimental fool," Romano finally said.

"You make me that way."

…

In the morning Romano awoke first, stretched and grinned, thinking about last night, about his sentimental friend, who was snoring next to him. He got out of bed and went into the bathroom to wash up.

An unmarked envelope sat propped up on the sink. He picked it up and opened it to find a card.

Romano read the sweet commentary inside and felt tears forming. He slapped the card down on the countertop and hastily washed his face with cold water, thinking about his snoozy bastard and what a great year they'd had. Dammit.

After he was clean and under control, he went back to the bed and crawled back in. England didn't awaken. Romano quietly slipped an arm around his friend and lay awake, not really thinking of anything, just feeling content.

…

"Bastard, are you ever going to wake up?" An hour later, Romano had begun to lose patience. He poked England in the side.

"Stop poking me, git, I'm sleepy." But he woke up. "Oh. Hi. Give me a hug."

"Gladly, you fucking sentimental bastard." Here, Romano gave him a weak little smile.

"Oh. You found the card?" England blushed.

"Yes, I found the card." Romano hugged him very tightly, mostly to conceal his own blush. He felt England's arms slip around him and hold him close.

"Best year of my life," the blond whispered to him.

"Me too. Let's have another one," Romano responded, kissing his hair.


	61. Football

**Football.**

In middle America, at a world meeting, Denmark and England both felt mighty irritated, listening to nations waffle on about the usual nonsense with no resolution. Tangential discussions led nowhere, or led back to the beginning of the argument. Den had his head on the table and England sat doodling fairies and tomatoes on his note pad, drinking bad iced tea.

The worst part was knowing it was a beautiful day and that Prussia and Romano were out having fun somewhere in town together, waiting for them to finish.

 _Want to play some football after the meeting?_ England wrote on the note pad, and shoved it under Denmark's nose.

"Sure, if we can find someplace to play," Denmark whispered.

Well, at least that would be something to take the tedium of this lousy meeting out of their minds.

…

"Kesesese! I am so awesome at football. I'd love to play."

Romano snorted. "Every time you play something against the mystic bastard, you lose! But, it's your funeral, bastard. I'm in."

"Fine, gits. There's a pitch at the high school down the road. Meet you outside the hotel in fifteen minutes?" England took his lover's hand and squeezed it happily.

"Yeah, come on, Prussia, let's go get changed."

"Hey, guys!" America called, coming out of the conference room. "Prussia! Romano! I didn't know you guys were here. Why didn't you come to the meeting?"

"Why would we, bastard? When we could wander around this charming city and enjoy your culture?"

"Oh, that's a very good point," the host nation replied. All four of the others bit their lips in order not to make sarcastic comments. "What are you doing tonight?" America went on.

"Going to play some football. Want to join us?"

"Sure! I'll go home and get my stuff."

"We'll meet you at that school on the corner?"

"Sounds good to me." They all split up to get changed.

…

"Hey, bastards, where are we going to get a ball?"

"Good point."

"Do you think America might bring one?" They turned to England as the authority on America.

"I don't know; he's pretty absent-minded sometimes. Let's see if we can find one in case he forgets. Maybe the hotel has one. Or maybe we could use one from the school."

The hotel had a ball they could use, so they sauntered off down the street together. It was a great early fall evening. "What'd you gits do all day?"

"Arthur, that's so mean of you. Stop calling me a git."

"All right, _Lucy_ , what did you and Romano do all day?"

"Nothing much. Wandered around, ate some crappy pizza, drank some crappy coffee."

"Went to a crappy museum, too, bastard."

"Oh yeah. Forgot about that."

"What was so bad about it?"

"Just boring. Took us about half an hour to get through it and wasn't interesting at all."

"What amazes me," Denmark laughed, "is that the two of you apparently made it through the entire day without fighting. Or am I wrong?"

"You're wrong. Romano was bitching at me all day. But I let it slide."

"Chigi! I'm a man, you idiotic potato. Men don't 'bitch.'" But the other three just laughed at him.

When they reached the field, they found to their dismay that another group was using it. However, when they realized the others were Germany, Veneziano, Spain, France and Austria, Romano immediately collared his friends. "Let's play against those bastards, come on, let's kick the shit out of them!" He had a very fierce look on his face.

"I don't mind! I love thrashing Austria. And it's always fun to beat West at anything. He gets very pouty afterwards."

"Er – but your other buddies are over there…you know, your Bad Touch wankers?"

"Who cares? They won't care. A friendly game of football is not going to be a problem."

Denmark laughed. "The way Romano's acting, I doubt it's going to be very friendly." Romano was indeed standing there jittering, scowling at the other players, making little snarling noises.

"Well, there's only one more problem. There are only four of us."

Prussia shrugged. "America's coming, isn't he? We can just kick around until he gets here? Romano, go ask those guys if they want to play us. Tell them we're still waiting for America, though." Romano ran off to talk to his brother and Germany. "Kesesese~! I hope you guys are in good form tonight. I don't want any of them to see me on a losing team."

"Don't worry about us," Den laughed. "I think the only wild card on the field is going to be America."

They both turned to England again, and he just shrugged. "It's anybody's guess. Sometimes he's really good, sometimes he has no clue. Let's just hope for the best."

"Oh, we can probably cover him, unless he does something really stupid. Stick him in the goal."

Romano gestured them over. "Yeah, we'll play. How long do you think it will take the burger bastard to get here?"

"Damn it, I really hate being America's babysitter! I have no idea, wanker!"

"Let's just get some practice. Can you get them off the field for a little bit? They've had a little time to warm up together."

"Yes, yes, I'll be right back."

"What position do you play, Arthur?"

"Anything we need, Gilbert. You defending?"

"Yeah. It probably makes more sense for me and Den to defend and you and Romano to attack."

"America's not going to be happy being in goal, you know," Denmark pointed out. "It's not flashy enough for him."

"Well, we'll start out that way; we can switch around after a while, if he's really shirty about it."

…

Half an hour later everyone had warmed up, but there was still no sign of America. "Bollocks. He probably forgot."

The other team started catcalling. "Come on, _mes amis_ , I don't want to stand around all day!" Germany and Austria seemed unconcerned, although the blond kept directing nervous glances at both England and Romano. Spain lay on the ground looking up at the clouds, ignoring everyone.

"Ve, _fratello_ , are you too scared to play?" Veneziano actually looked a little scary at the moment, too.

Romano growled and gave up. "Chigi! Let's just play without him."

"If we do that, we're liable to get murdered." Denmark blew out a sigh.

"Well, we could at least start. Maybe we would be good enough. I mean, we are all awesome at football, yes?"

"Yes, wanker, but so are they! Ah, whatever. Let's try playing with just the four of us. Or maybe they can let someone sit out until he gets here."

A brief shouted conference in the center of the field led to Austria sitting out until America's arrival, or until the first goal was scored against his team, whichever came first. "Just don't expect me to be paying attention all the time," he snapped. "If you need me, you have to come get me. I'm working on a new composition and will most likely be thinking about that while I'm on the sidelines." He stomped off.

"Right, let's play!" yelled Prussia, and play began.

…

Things were pretty evenly-matched for a while. France, on the attack, tried to taunt both Romano and England, but they were focused enough to ignore his increasingly-irritated yells. No one had scored a goal yet. Veneziano had begun barreling down the field towards the goal, which Romano had hurried to defend. Instead of taking the ball closer, Veneziano gave it a good strong kick towards the goal. Romano completely ignored this and stared off the side of the field, and the ball hit him in the head. "Ow! Veneziano, you idiot! What did you do that for?"

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Denmark yelled at Romano. "Why are you just standing around staring?" Gameplay crashed to a halt.

"Oh." Romano shrugged and pointed to the side of the field. "I was distracted." America stood on the sidelines, pouting, with his American football gear on, and his helmet under his arm.

"Bloody hell." England sank his head into his hands.

Many of the playing nations turned away so America wouldn't see them grinning at him, but France, Prussia, and Veneziano all laughed out loud. "Ve, America, you got the wrong game!"

They all walked to the side of the field. "Iggy, you said it was _football!_ Not soccer!"

"You're a complete and utter git, America. Complete! You're the only American here! Nobody else calls it soccer!"

"But we're in America! Of course I thought you meant American football." He continued pouting.

"You didn't stop to think about where all the rest of us would get American football gear?"

"Uh. No, I didn't." He looked down at the ground, embarrassed.

"Ah, listen, bastard, just take off all that silly padding and come play. Unless you don't know how?"

"Of course I know how! I'm awesome at soccer."

"Better be," Romano growled.

…

Five minutes later America had divested himself of all his extraneous padding and the teams were on the field. As Denmark had predicted, America was not pleased about being relegated to goalie, but he accepted it.

Gameplay recommenced.

…

"Gah, these guys are kicking our butts," Denmark snarled. The score was 3-1 after half an hour of play. Luckily the sun would be up for a while, so they _might_ be able to recover, but…

"Put me on offense," America suggested. "Switch with me, Iggy."

"You're already too offensive, git!"

"Hell, it can't hurt, bastard. Switch positions. That all right with you?" Romano asked.

England caved in. "Yes, well, whatever."

…

Things had begun to look up. The score was now 3-3. America _was_ surprisingly effective on the attack, but now Romano was getting irritated because America was also a ball hog. "Quit showing off, dammit!"

"Hey, we caught up, didn't we?"

Prussia interrupted. "Switch positions with me, Romano."

"I can't! I suck at defense! One sight of Spain or France headed my way and I'll just run off the field, you know that. Switch with America."

"I don't mind, Prussia."

"I never get to attack. This is _awesome_. Okay, America and Den on defense, Romano and me on attack."

"Wait. Can't one of you relieve me of goalie duty? I hate playing in goal."

Denmark sighed. "Yes, all right, England takes defense, I'll take goalie."

Meanwhile, the opposing team was in an actual huddle. "Guess the bastards are getting nervous about us. Look at them."

"Your brother's just as bad as you, Romano. You guys are like a couple of football demons." America beamed at this epiphany.

"Sibling rivalry," the Fail Brothers snorted in unison, and they all laughed together before retaking the field.

…

"Right, now, don't be a ball hog, albino potato."

"I can't believe you'd even think that of me, Romano. It's completely unawesome to leave your teammates high and dry that way."

"Just – just – whatever! Just play!"

…

"Argh, damn it," Denmark said, when England dropped back to defend the goal.

"Argh what?"

"We didn't make a bet!"

"Argh is right! Shut up and focus!"

…

An hour later the score was still 3-3 and everyone had started to droop with exhaustion. Even the Italy brothers, who had been the most vehement players, were losing interest. A small crowd had gathered at the edge of the playing field, quite interested in the game. "Sudden death?" America suggested. Everyone looked at him blankly. "What? It's a tiebreaker! Whoever scores the next goal wins!"

"Except nobody's been scoring for an hour, _mon cher_. This could go on all night!"

"No, it couldn't," both Germany and Denmark spat.

"Let's take a ten-minute break. Maybe somebody will come up with an idea," Prussia offered.

"Yeah, yeah. Come over here, bastards, let's talk about strategy."

"My specialty, kesesese!"

The teams split up. "Do we even have a strategy?" Denmark asked wearily. "It seems like all we're doing is running around screaming."

"Maybe we should just call the game. It's getting dark," America pointed out.

"No!" the other four chorused, then laughed.

"It's – important to me that we beat them," Romano finally offered in a candid tone, sighing. "I know we're all good, and they're all good, but…I really want to beat those bastards." He looked up at America. "You have no reason to keep playing, but I do."

"I'm in, wanker," the exhausted England said, punching him affectionately. Everyone grinned at this predictable response.

Prussia patted his Italian friend on the shoulder. "You know I'm in; it's not awesome to quit in the middle of a game. Besides, France and Spain would never let me hear the end of it. "

"Germany and Austria wouldn't, either, bastard."

"I know. Den?"

"Well, of course I'm in. I just wish we'd have remembered to make a bet before we started!" Groans from Prussia and Romano.

"Bet on the winners, git. Bet on us."

"Bastard, are you playing, or not?" Romano elbowed America in the ribs.

"Sure! If you guys are saying 'never say die' then I will too. It's more heroic that way."

They could all hear a low growling noise but only Romano realized it was coming from England. He grinned and poked him. "Let's kick their asses."

They went back to the center of the field in fine, fighting spirit; Germany and Veneziano came to meet them. "We're too tired to keep playing, ve. You guys can have the win."

"Son of a bitch!" Romano yelled. He threw the ball at Germany's face, but Denmark intercepted it. "We were completely going to crush you!"

"Ah, give it up, Romano, don't you see? We did crush them. We crushed their fighting spirits." Den handed the ball to Prussia.

"Yep. We awesomely thrashed them!" Prussia began doing one of his funny little victory dances on the field. Everyone ignored him.

"So are we all right, then?" Germany asked wearily. "The game is over, honor satisfied?"

The players all looked at Romano, whose anger was winding down. " _Chigi!..._ But, yes, all right, we won, you lost, it's all good." He turned to his team. "Come on, you bastards, let's go get drunk to celebrate. My treat. Last man standing wins."

"Kesesese!"


	62. The Need for Speed

**The Need for Speed.**

"Hey, albino potato, it's me."

"Wow. You never call me. Are you looking for Veneziano? He's not here. West is out doing the grocery shopping."

"No, stupid, I'm calling to talk to you. Veneziano's at home today. Listen, this weekend he's coming to see your stupid brother, and he wants to drag me along. You know I hate hanging out with them. I wondered whether you and Den want to do something, get me out of that house."

"Aw, how sweet of you to think of me, Romano. This weekend when? Saturday or Sunday?"

"Saturday. I checked; the weather's supposed to be good, at least."

"I'm free on Saturday. Don't know about Denmark, though. I'll call him and find out. What about Arthur?"

"Do you think I would have called _you_ if I could have gone to see him?" Romano almost threw the phone down, but didn't. "He's going to Japan for some meeting on Friday and he'll be there all next week."

"Don't be mean about it, you know you love to spend time with me. You love me! Kesesese."

"What is it going to take, bastard, for you to _stop saying that_?"

"Just admit you love me! Just once. In front of Den. And then I'll stop."

Romano growled. "I already did that on the fucking chocolate boat. Or were you too drunk to remember? Argh, I'll see what I can do. _If_ you really think you'll stop. Somehow I have a feeling you'd just continue to goad me about it."

"Well, maybe."

"Shut up! Just – just talk to Den and see if we can get together. All right? Don't be stupid about it!"

"Yes, yes, you party pooper." He could hear the pout in Prussia's voice. "I'll call you tomorrow and let you know."

"Sounds okay to me. We're supposed to get there around nine."

"How are you going to get up early enough to get here by nine? You're such a snoozer!"

"Cheh, I'll sleep on the way. Don't worry about that. Got it, bastard?"

"Got it, snoozer. Talk to you tomorrow."

…

"Ve, _fratello_ , time to wake up if we're going to go to Germany's house! I'm so glad you and Prussia will be having fun together today."

"Mmmmrrr…" from under the pillow. It was much too early for this shit!

"Romano! Get up!" Veneziano maliciously yanked the pillow off his brother's head and began whacking him with it.

"Dammit. Why are you so vicious with me? I'll get up; stop hitting me with the fucking pillow!"

"Okay! But hurry up. We don't want to be late."

This was a bit worrying. "Why not?"

"Because - I want to go see Germany, of course! Now get out of bed." Veneziano left the room and Romano reluctantly got up.

…

"Awesome! You got here before Den! Come on in, both of you. _Hey, West!_ "

Germany appeared from the kitchen. "Ah, hello, Italy, Romano. Shut the door, Prussia, will you?"

Prussia slammed the door. Veneziano ran to hug his burly boyfriend and Romano turned away in disgust.

"Give me a hug, Romano, I feel left out," Prussia offered with his insane grin.

"Chigi! Shut up. What are we doing today?"

The lovebirds went into the kitchen arm-in-arm, leaving the dangerous fucking bastards in the foyer. "Just wait until Den gets here."

"Fine. Let's go outside. I don't want to be in this stupid house."

"Come on, Gilbird," Prussia called to his chick with glee. "We're going out today!" The bird came and settled on his head and they went out to sit on the porch.

Denmark arrived twenty minutes later. "Hey, what are we doing today?"

"I don't know! Ask the potato. He won't tell me."

"Kesesese! Come on, Den, let's all get in your car. I have an absolutely awesome day planned for us."

"Cheh. Every time we get together you say that."

"Seriously, though, this really _is_ awesome and both you and Den will love it. Get in the car. Do you need to fill up the tank, Denmark?"

"Depends. How far are we driving?"

"Get in and head west and I'll tell you. You better fill up the tank, yeah. _Kesesese~_!" Prussia was so excited, pounding his fists on his knees, that Gilbird flew off his head and rested on the car's headrest instead.

"Hey, if we're going to be in the car for a long time, can I take a nap in the back?"

"Sure, sleepy boy! Have fun. We'll wake you when we get there, unless you wake up first."

"Just how far are you making me drive today?" Denmark looked appalled.

Prussia merely tried to look inscrutable. "You'll see."

The other two sighed and got in the car. Romano lay back and fell asleep almost immediately. Gilbird settled in on his warm stomach to sleep as well.

…

"You're kidding me!" Denmark's agitated voice woke Romano up.

"Mmmmrrr…" he growled. "What are you yelling about?" He sat up and frowned at the two in the front seat. "How long have I been asleep? Where the hell are we going, bastards?" Gilbird settled on Prussia's shoulder, cheeping quietly.

"The Nürburgring!" Den said in amazement.

"What? That's like, halfway across potato bastard land! How much longer until we get there?" Romano was very angry to have been awakened from his nap for this news.

"Calm down, Romano! We're almost there, _and_ , we're going there to race cars! I got West to pull some strings for us. They've got cars waiting for us and they're shutting down the track! It will be closed all day, just for the three of us to race."

"Damn. That is awesome," Denmark admitted. "It makes this long drive worth it."

"Wait a minute. What kind of cars?"

"They are going to have…" Prussia paused as if he were announcing the winners of a contest "…a BMW for me…a Ferrari for you…and a choice of either a Lotus or a Skoda for Den!"

"A _Skoda?"_ the other two chorused. "You've got to be kidding me," Denmark laughed.

Romano was getting quite interested in this. "A Ferrari, huh, well, albino potato, maybe you did do something awesome today."

"You know what?" Denmark asked.

"We need to make a bet," they all said.

"Cheh. You're getting too predictable, Den."

"But we do. And it's an easy one, too. Just be the winner of the most races."

"Well, what are we doing? Individual laps? Multi-lap races? We have to figure that out, bastards."

"It would be silly to do a whole bunch of individual laps," Prussia considered. "We should just get in and race until somebody crashes or runs out of gas."

"Crashes? You idiot. I'm not going to crash a car on the Nürburgring!" Denmark was vehement about this.

Romano nodded in support of this. "Are you really that bad of a driver, bastard?"

"We-e-ell, not exactly," the albino waffled. "I mean, it's a very long time since I raced a race car. But probably I'm not that bad. In fact I'm probably awesome and just don't remember it."

Loud sighs from the other two. "But listen, if we do one long race, then we're not really hanging out together. If each of us is in his own car…?"

"Ah, my Danish friend, you fail to realize just what kind of pull my brother has around here! West got them to give us crash helmets with radio communications in them, so we can talk to each other all day!"

Romano snorted. "Not sure I want to have your voice in my ear all day, while I'm trying to concentrate on driving."

"Huh, that's all the thanks I get? For someone who loves me, _and_ who is getting to drive a Ferrari on the Nürburgring, you sure are an ingrate."

Romano didn't dignify that with a response. Eventually Denmark pulled in to the parking lot that Prussia pointed out, and they got out of the car. Gilbird was still riding on the albino's head.

…

After they'd gotten the car situation settled (Den took the Lotus), Prussia set out the rules. "We'll start out with one single lap. Like a warm-up. First one back here can decide what the official bet rules will be. Okay?"

"Deal, bastard. Move out of my way." Romano put on his crash helmet and got into the Ferrari.

"Did you even consider that Romano is an insane race-car driver?" Denmark asked his friend.

"Uh. No…"

"I heard that, bastard," they heard squawking from the earpieces of their helmets.

Instead of addressing this comment, Prussia got excited about the helmets. "Put on your helmet, Den! Wahaha, this is going to be so much fun! Hey, Gilbird, do you want to ride in the race car or wait over here? You can snooze in Denmark's car, if you like." The bird flew over onto the warm hood of Den's car and settled in to watch the race, cheeping quietly.

Eventually everyone had his helmet on and was seated in the correct car. "Everyone's radio working?" Prussia cackled.

"Yes, bastard, mine's working. Don't distract me."

"Mine's okay too, Prussia. Can you hear me, Romano?"

"Yes, yes, bastard, I can hear both of you, _too loudly_. Let's get going. Why don't you give the start signal, albino potato, since this is your deal?"

"Fine with me. On the count of three! No cheating, Romano!"

"Grrrrr…."

"One…two…two and a half…"

"Dammit!"

"Three!"

The cars squealed past the starting line and soon the only sounds were the occasional "Kesesese" and maniacal laughter from Romano.

"Dammit, Prussia, you're awesome!" he screamed, rounding a curve. He was in the lead at the moment.

"I didn't tell you these helmets are also recording everything we say! I'm going to save that recording and play it back to you every time you get mad at me."

"Bastard, I may never get mad at you again, this is so much fun. This is a great car."

"Hey, Prussia," Denmark put in. "Why did you pick a Lotus for me? Why not something else?"

"Don't ask me, ask West. He set it up. I just asked him to do it."

"Cheh, what do you have to do for him now? Probably something pretty serious, huh?"

"Uh…he hasn't told me yet…"

Den laughed. "You're going to be cleaning bathrooms for the rest of your life!"

They sped on, without speaking, for a little while, still laughing and occasionally screaming with glee.

…

Denmark won the warm-up lap.

"So what's the bet going to be?"

"Damn it. I can never think of the bets! Isn't it enough that I remembered we need to _make_ the bet?"

Prussia tapped his lips, thinking. "How about we do a three-lap race? We'll keep track of who wins each lap. Whoever wins the most laps wins the bet?"

"Stupid again, potato brain. We might each win one lap and then it's a tie. We need to do four laps."

"No, because what if, say, I win two and Den wins two?"

"Bastard, you don't think I'm going to win? I'm going to kick your albino ass!"

"Regardless of who wins, we do need to figure out the right math for this," Den pointed out reasonably. "How about best out of five?"

"We could still end up with two, two, one," Prussia pointed out.

"Well, the two, two, could have a tiebreak lap?"

"Whatever, bastards, let's not waste all our race time arguing about the stupid bet! Or let's race and argue at the same time."

"Yeah, let's do best out of five. If we have a tie we'll do a tiebreaker."

"Right. You guys are going down!" Romano started his crazy laughter again. The race began in earnest.

…

The three friends happily chattered during lap one, with some occasional cursing when one of them was overtaken. At the end of the first lap they were still bunched up in a close pack. Romano was in front, with Denmark and Prussia nearly tied, right behind him.

During the second lap, Denmark got a little more risky with his cornering, and overtook Romano well before the end of the lap. There was a lot more cursing during this lap. Much of it was in Italian.

During the third lap Romano caught up to Denmark by focusing a little more, but Prussia passed them both right before they finished the lap. "Kesesese~!"

"Shut up, bastard!" Romano was getting really irritated. _Pissed off._ If the albino potato won this bet, nobody in the western world would ever hear the end of it.

On the fourth lap, Romano and Prussia crossed the line at the same time, with Denmark behind, still laughing crazily. "I want to go out and get drunk after this!" he yelled.

"Deal, bastard! Come on, we can't let the potato win!"

"Losers buy the drinks!" Prussia yelled into his helmet. Well, _that_ was certainly motivating. Everyone got a little more reckless in order to cross the finish line first.

"You know if I win this lap, it's a three-way tie," Denmark laughed. "Since you guys tied the last lap."

"Cheh, we'll work it out later, just finish the lap!" Denmark did then pass Romano. "Chigi! But…just pass the potato, Den, go!" Romano floored it and eventually overtook Denmark again, and was so intent on catching up to Prussia – who was only about ten yards ahead of him – that he completely missed the fact that they were approaching the finish line. When Prussia crossed the line, he safely brought his car to a stop, cackling, while Romano sped on into the distance.

"Hey, Romano, where are you going? I won the race! Kesesese!"

" _What?_ I thought that was only the fourth lap."

"Wow, you may be a good racer, Romano, but your math sucks." Denmark pulled over after crossing the line. "Come on back."

"Dammit. You mean the albino potato actually won?"

"Well, let's recap." They discussed the laps and realized that Prussia had indeed won two and a half laps, if they counted the one where he tied with Romano.

"Well… _dammit._ But…you know, it was an awesome race." Since the track had been closed for the day, Romano was able to turn around and drive back somewhat sedately. The other two leaned on the hood of Den's car while they waited, and Gilbird rested on the albino's shoulder, happily nibbling at his ear.

"This was a brilliant idea, Prussia. I don't mind buying the drinks at all. We should make a regular thing of this." Den stretched and gave them his happy grin.

"Uh…I don't know how often West would be able to arrange it. I'm just glad Veneziano got Romano out of bed in time."

"What? You mean that's why he was rushing me to get over to your place? Dammit. I wish he would have said. I'd have gotten up easily." Romano made sure their helmets were all stowed in the race cars before turning to the other two. "Hey…Prussia…"

"Yeah?"

"I…uh…you're awesome, bastard." He blushed and looked down at the ground. Both his friends started laughing.

"Kesesese!" Prussia grabbed him in a hug and spun him around. When he set Romano back down, he beamed at him and said, "You do love me!"

Romano just kept blushing and looking at the ground, and nodded. "And you too, Den."

Denmark gave them both a hug, too. "Come on, brothers, let's go get drunk."


	63. Pet Store Shenanigans

**Pet Store Shenanigans.**

Sitting under the tree, Prussia tried to poke Romano with his foot. "Wake up."

"No."

"Den, make him wake up. This is boring."

"Shut up. I'm not asleep."

"Well, then let's go do something!" Prussia ripped up handfuls of the sparse grass and tried to fling them at his lazy friend, but the grass didn't go very far.

Denmark stood and stretched. "Yeah, let's go downtown or something. Come on, Romano. Want me to carry you?" He grinned.

"Chigi! I can walk!" He scrambled up very quickly and the three of them walked off, Prussia and Denmark laughing, and Romano with his habitual scowl.

"Well, you made me carry you that one time."

"That was just to goad you. What do you bastards want to do, anyway?"

"Beats me," Prussia answered. "There's got to be something interesting around here."

"Let's get some coffee, at least."

"Oh yeah! I forgot they were having a special promotion this month. They're issuing demitasse spoons with engravings of famous buildings in the bowl of the spoon. I'm collecting all of them."

"With what money?" Den asked. "How many are there, and where are you getting the cash?"

"West gave me some money. You don't need to be such a wet blanket all the time."

"Cheh. He's perfectly right to ask. Don't expect me to buy fancy spoons for your collection, potato brain."

They entered the coffee shop and placed their orders. Prussia made a beeline for the fancy spoon display and almost squealed when he saw Sanssouci was the featured spoon of the week. "I've _got_ to get it!" He went back to the counter and purchased one.

When they had their drinks, Prussia drew them outside so he could wax eloquent about his spoon. "Not only, not _only_ does it have the most awesome Sanssouci on it, but also, it was the very last one they had in sterling silver! All the rest were stainless steel! This is a very rare spoon. I'm so excited that I got the last one."

"Whatever," his friends said in unison, and he bopped Romano on the head with the spoon.

"Ow. Bastard."

"You just don't appreciate the awesomeness that is my new spoon."

"Right." Denmark sipped his coffee. "We don't appreciate it. We never will. Shut up."

Prussia growled, but then shut up and tucked the spoon into the breast pocket of his uniform jacket. The very end of the handle poked up through the flap.

"Don't lose it, dammit. I don't want to listen to you moaning all day about how you lost your fucking _rare spoon_." Romano snorted.

"It's secure! All right? Let's walk on."

They walked on. Romano finished his coffee and threw the cup away.

"Hey, what's that?" Den eventually asked. "New store!"

"Exotic Pet Shop? I don't see what makes it so exotic," Romano argued. "It looks just like every other shop on this road."

"Kesesese! Are you an idiot, Romano? It means that the _pets_ are exotic! Not the shop!" Prussia threw his coffee cup away and checked to make sure his spoon was secure. It was.

"Dammit! Whatever!"

"Can we go in?" Denmark had finished his coffee and threw the cup in a trash can.

"Sure, I don't mind. I like exotic animals. Coming in, Romano?"

"Yes, all right."

They entered the exotic pet shop. It was very large; there were even shopping carts available, which made them all laugh. "I guess if you wanted to buy a really big dog, you could put it in the cart?" Den scratched his head, puzzled.

"Maybe for big bags of cat litter or something, bastard."

"Yeah, that's probably it. Well, I don't think we need a shopping cart, do you?"

"Dammit, I'm not going to buy a pet, exotic or otherwise! What about you, albino potato, or did you spend all your cash on that stupid spoon?"

"It's not a stupid spoon," Prussia began, and Denmark immediately clapped a hand over both his mouth and Romano's.

"No fighting. Not in the store. You want to fight, wait until we're outside."

Both his friends nodded, and he took his hands away.

"Anyway, I didn't spend _all_ my cash on the spoon, but also, I don't want to come home with a pet; West might kill me."

"Hmm," Romano mused. Could he sneak an exotic pet into the potato bastard's house just to get him pissed off at Prussia? That would be funny. But no. Probably his _fratello_ would end up doing all the cage cleaning. "Come on, let's just walk around and see what they have."

First they entered the bird section. In addition to the exotic birds such as toucans, the store also stocked many more standard varieties. The friends spent a pleasant half hour trying to teach the birds to speak. At the end of the half hour, the only success they'd had was with the bird Romano had been speaking to. He'd been trying to teach it to say "bastard," but because he'd gotten so irritated, the bird kept saying "chigi" instead. Denmark and Prussia found this very funny; Romano was quite embarrassed.

"You should buy it, Romano. Then when somebody phones you up and you don't want to talk to them, you can just park the bird by the phone and have it squawk 'chigi' every ten seconds. Nobody will ever know the difference! Kesesese!"

"You're an idiot, Prussia. A complete idiot. You know the only person I would ever use it on is _you._ "

"But I love you!"

Romano and Denmark both froze with their mouths wide open, until Prussia started laughing at them. "You guys look like big, dumb fish! Close your mouths!"

"I…just can't believe what you said," Denmark stammered. "I can't believe you actually changed your catchphrase!"

"Don't be stupid, Den, it's not a _catchphrase_. I only say it to Romano, and I'm giving him a break because he was so cool about the Nürburgring day."

"Cheh, thanks, potato brain. But that talking bird idea is still pretty stupid."

"Come on, let's move along." Denmark steered them towards the reptile area. "Whoa! Look at this lizard thing!" He peered into a giant terrarium built into the wall. "What is this thing?" They looked around for a sign, but couldn't find one. It was a very large lizard thing…about three feet long, spiky and green.

"Excuse me, miss?" Prussia collared a clerk. "What is this thing?"

"Oh! That's our green iguana. We call him Iggy."

The friends were silent for about three seconds, and then Prussia and Denmark burst into such loud peals of laughter that the clerk scurried away. Romano flushed bright red and turned away from the other two…but he was fighting laughter as well. "Ta-take a picture of it, Den," Prussia wheezed. "We have to, have to show it to him…" He exploded with laughter again and this time Romano joined in.

"Hey, Romano, stand next to the cage thing. We can tell him you were hanging out with another Iggy." Denmark started spluttering again.

Romano slouched over to the terrarium and let Denmark snap the picture. They wandered off, still chuckling, towards the insect area. "I told you it was a good idea to come in here," Denmark beamed. "This place is fun."

They entered the main insect aisle. "Gah!" Romano jumped away from the nearest cage. It held a giant spider, a big, menacing thing almost as big as a plate. "What the fuck?"

Denmark read the label. "It's a—"

"I don't even want to know! Dammit!" Romano ran off past the insect area. Prussia caught up with him very quickly.

"I agree, man, that thing was scary."

"Where the hell's Den?"

Prussia peeked over the shelves. "Still looking in the cage."

"Son of a bitch. Who would even want to buy such a thing? _He_ better not buy one!" Romano wiped a bit of sweat from his brow. "Why does this store even sell stuff like that? They shouldn't just have that out where unsuspecting customers can walk right up and see it! What if a mom brings her little kids in here? That's going to give me nightmares!"

"Calm down, Romano." Prussia patted him on the shoulder. "Come on. Relax. Forget you saw it."

Romano leaned his head against Prussia's shoulder. "Yeah. Thanks." He took a few deep breaths. "Can you tell Den to get a move on? I need to look at something fluffy and cute, I think, to get that out of my head." He turned in place and found the exotic mammals section. "Over there. I'm going over there. Will you get Den?"

"Sure. We'll meet you over there."

Romano, still trembling a little, moved to the exotic mammals section, a little fearful of what he might find there. But the first cage he saw had an adorable tufted koala bear in it. "Aww," he said, in a very quiet tone, and spent a few minutes happily looking at it and wondering if koala bears were cuddly or if those big claws would scratch his face off if he tried for a hug.

Before he could get too agitated about this, his friends joined him. "You okay, Romano?" Denmark hugged him. "Sorry about that."

"Ah, it's all right, bastard. Just – don't expect me to go over to that part of the store again."

"This guy's cute!" Prussia said, gesturing to the bear.

"Yeah, they are really cute…to look at…but look at the claws."

"I noticed that. Come on, let's see what else there is." They moved on, Prussia in the lead.

"Awesome! Check it out!" He was jumping up and down in front of a basic cage that held some kind of white mammal.

"What is it?" Denmark looked at it critically. "Ferret?"

"It's a _mink_! Isn't that cool?"

"I thought minks were brown, bastard, or sometimes black. You know, like they make mink coats out of?"

The mink seemed to give Romano a very dirty look, but he was probably just imagining that.

"It's an _albino mink~,"_ Prussia sang out, practically dancing in the aisle. "This would be the world's most perfect pet. Soft, cuddly, and albino!"

"Just like you," Denmark snorted.

"What do you mean, Den? I _am_ soft, cuddly and albino! Why are you guys laughing?" He punched Denmark in the shoulder and turned back to the mink cage, bending over to peer in at the little guy…

…who reached out a tiny albino paw and pinched the Sanssouci spoon right out of Prussia's pocket.

" _Hey_! Hey, that mink stole my spoon!"

Romano and Den were seriously laughing now; Romano had to lean against a shelf to stay upright. Prussia dodged around the cage in a panic, trying to get his spoon back, but he was afraid to slip his fingers through the bars in case the mink bit him, and the mink kept moving the spoon around anyway. "Come on, you guys, get a clerk over here or something. I want my spoon back!"

But neither of his friends could attend.

"You two are total – _bastards!_ " Prussia yelled. "I'll go find a clerk myself!" He stomped off, and the other two were mostly able to control themselves at that point.

"Dammit."

"You said it."

They wiped their eyes and studiously avoided looking into the mink cage.

Soon Prussia returned with a clerk. "Hey, what happened to the spoon?"

"How should I know, bastard? The mink took it, that's all I can tell you."

"Come on! You guys didn't even pay attention? I can't even _see_ the spoon anymore!"

"Maybe he ate it," Denmark suggested, which set him and Romano off again.

"I'm never going anywhere with you two again."

"Is that a promise?"

Prussia and the clerk focused on locating the spoon; the albino also focused on ignoring his hysterical friends. Eventually the clerk spotted a flash of silver in the mink's pile of bedding.

"I can see it, sir," he said to Prussia. "If I take the mink out and hand it to you, can you hold it while I get the spoon out?"

"No, no, no!" Prussia argued. " _You_ hold the mink. I'll get the precious spoon. It's very rare, you know."

"Fine," sighed the clerk. Den and Romano turned back to watch this.

The clerk opened the cage and gently lifted out the struggling albino mink with both hands. As Prussia reached in to grab his rare spoon, the mink twisted in the clerk's hand and jumped free, running down the aisle away from them.

"Damn it!" the clerk yelled, running after the mink. "Escape! Escape!" He blew a little whistle that was hanging around his neck.

"Come on, Prussia, let's get the hell out of here!" Denmark grabbed him by the arm and the three of them sprinted for the exit.

…

 _'Mink Marauds Rare Spoon' is an anagram of 'Prussia Denmark Romano.'_


	64. Paintball

**Paintball.**

After they'd finished their coffee this visit (and Prussia had picked up his next collectible spoon, depicting the White House, at which he snorted, but bought it anyway), the friends wandered off down the road. It was later in the day than usual. Denmark had had meetings all morning. "Wanna go see the exotic pets?" he asked with a grin.

" _No,"_ the other two chorused. "I just got a new spoon!" Prussia pointed out.

"And I don't want to see that fucking spider again, dammit."

"Fine. Then what are we going to do?"

They walked in silence, each trying to come up with a plan. "We could – ah, no, forget it," Prussia said.

"What? Maybe we could?" Den's curiosity had been aroused..

"Romano wouldn't do it. You would, and I would, but…forget it."

"Chigi! Will you just tell us what it is?" Romano punched Prussia's arm.

"Well, there _is_ that new paintball place."

Den's eyes lit up, and Romano's widened in fear. " _What_?"

"See, I told you," Prussia said dismissively.

The Dane took a few minutes to think. He loved to play paintball, and he knew Prussia did too. It was just a matter of finding the right way to convince Romano. Of course, they could ask him to wait outside while they played, but that was no fun at all. "I wouldn't want Romano to be uncomfortable," he eventually said in a very concerned tone. At this, both his friends looked at him: Romano with relief, but Prussia with understanding.

"I agree," the albino replied calmly. "We can find something else to do. Don't worry about it, Romano. Den and I can come and play sometime without you."

 _Aha, very effective,_ Denmark realized, and indeed, Romano began to bristle. "I'm not a _little kid_ , bastard. It's just – well – I've never done that before. I don't know anything about it."

Prussia gestured at Denmark, as if to say "Over to you," and so he started to explain about paintball.

The friends continued to walk on as he explained. Romano's expression went from surly to thoughtful. "I do like shooting guns," he admitted. "I just don't like getting hit!" Prussia interrupted to point out that it didn't always _hurt._ More like a slap. Here, he slapped Romano, who slapped his hand away. "Cheh. I can deal with that. I have to, when I'm with you two." Naturally, Denmark and Prussia both slapped him, at that.

They held their breath, hoping, as the three of them walked along. "How long do you play for?" the brunet asked.

"Couple hours, usually," Denmark answered in a rather offhand tone.

"A couple _hours?_ Of getting _shot at? Chigi!"_

Whoops. Prussia and Denmark looked at each other. Looked like they were back to square one. "Well," the albino conceded, "you don't _have_ to. It's not like a set thing, where you have to stay until the end of the round. You can just leave whenever you want."

"But you bastards usually play for a couple of hours?"

"We've never played together," Den pointed out. "I usually just go down to my local place and play with whoever else is around."

"Same here, but sometimes West goes with me. I don't like it when he does. He always wins."

All three of them smiled at that admission. They continued to walk on, past the pet store, and then Romano said, "All right, bastards. I'll do it…if we can limit ourselves to an hour."

"Kesesese! Yes!" Prussia leaped up and punched the air. "Thanks, Romano. You rock."

"Cheh. I know," he snorted, but then gave his friends a tiny little smile. Denmark gave him a quick one-armed hug and they wandered off to the paintball joint.

…

This particular paintball place was purpose-built, covering nearly three acres of ground on several levels. Prussia told them about the place where he and Germany usually went, which was an abandoned prison that had been converted for paintball play, and it sounded kind of interesting. This place was like a big warehouse, with several interior levels available, each set up as a different kind of environment. Players could choose the urban jungle, a level with rusty cars, concrete slabs, and the like; the rainforest, filled with artificial plants and misters in the ceiling and walls (they dismissed that as being too messy); a rocky beach, with a sand-covered floor; and in fact a level made to look like an abandoned prison. "Huh," Prussia scoffed. "They stole that idea."

"Who cares? Come on, pick a level." Denmark shouldered his rifle.

"Not the prison level, bastards. I don't want albino boy to have an unfair advantage." Romano still looked kind of nervous, but he was looking at his paintball gun almost with affection. He'd chosen the AK47, and it looked pretty impressive.

"I don't mind. Den, you pick." Prussia was packing a paintball pistol, a PPK.

"Ah, all right, how about the beach level? There didn't seem to be too many people there, anyway."

"Sounds all right to me," Romano said, still admiring his rifle.

…

 _Cheh_ , Romano thought, _this isn't so bad, but…_ He was crouched behind a big rock. There were artificial palm trees and dune grasses here and there; Den or the albino potato could be hiding _anywhere_! So far he'd managed to avoid getting hit, but…he hadn't landed any shots, either. He really wanted to shoot Prussia! Their team was wearing rented desert camouflage; he had seen at least two other groups on this level, but one wore jungle camo, the other red jackets, and both were easy to differentiate from Den and Prussia. Also, those jungle bastards were wearing helmets.

Romano peeked out from around his rock again and saw Prussia trying to sneak across an opening between two trees. Aha. He took careful aim and shot, hearing a satisfying yelp from the albino as the paintball got him. "Heh heh," he snickered, ready to shoot again, but by now Prussia had done a crouch-and-roll behind a tree.

 _Zing!_ "Ow!" Denmark had shot Romano in the ass! "Dammit." He turned and looked for the spiky-haired blond, but couldn't see him. Well, either this camouflage was damned effective, or Den was stealthier than he'd thought. It did hurt a little, but…now he was pissed off, and determined to shoot the bastard! He sneaked around his rock to head towards another area, to get out of range of the invisible Denmark and work out a plan.

…

Den felt pretty upset; he hadn't had a chance to shoot anyone yet! He kept spotting one of the guys in the jungle camo, or the red gear, but either Prussia and Romano were being too stealthy, or their camouflage was very, very good. He stalked off again, carrying his rifle ready to shoot, eyes darting to and fro in search of his friends.

…

Prussia knew, he just _knew_ that it had been Romano who'd shot him. It was damn frustrating, not being able to spot the brunet. He really, really wanted to shoot him! He popped his head up over the top of a big rock, scanning the area. Aha. There was some movement over there. He carefully aimed his pistol and shot.

"Son of a bitch!" he heard, in a voice that was neither Denmark's nor Romano's. Whoops. He ducked back down in case the other guy decided to retaliate, and slunk off around the side of his big fake rock.

…

The hour was almost up. Romano took pride in himself for taking no further hits, but continued to be pissed that he hadn't managed to shoot anybody after that first one he'd landed on Prussia. But ah! There he was again. Romano took careful aim.

"Bloody hell!" he heard from the side of the room, and this distracted him so much that the rifle swung towards the sound and he accidentally pulled the trigger. "Ow!" A paintball zinged past his tree defense and hit him in the shoulder. "Dammit!"

"Aha!" he heard Denmark yell, and Romano felt a paintball hit him in the back.

"Gotcha!" Prussia screamed, scrambling over a rock and shooting Den in the arm.

All three of them rested together, looking a bit triumphant, when suddenly someone shot Romano in the arm. "Ow! Who the fuck is shooting at me?" he bellowed.

They turned around and saw one of the helmeted jungle camouflage guys aiming at them again. "What the hell?" Prussia yelled. "You're only supposed to shoot at your own players!"

 _Zing!_ Romano ducked and the shot caught Denmark in the stomach. "Damn it!" He shot back at the jungle guy. Romano and Prussia, both understandably pissed off, started shooting the guy, too.

"Hey, hey, stop, stop, stop, you guys! Ha ha!"

"America?" they all chorused.

Just then Prussia jumped forward as if he'd been shot from behind…which he had. "Gotcha, Gilbert, you bloody awesome strategist!"

Romano blinked to make sure he wasn't dreaming. "What the hell are you doing here, bastard?" England was dressed in the jungle camo, covered in paintball splats. America got up and came towards them from the other direction.

"Well, America wanted to come play paintball! I called you, but you weren't home. Should have guessed you'd be out with these wankers."

"It's totally unawesome that you shot me in the back, Arthur."

"Cheh, like you wouldn't have done the same thing to him?" When Romano spat this out, Prussia shrugged and laughed, slinging an arm around Arthur.

"This is really stupid," Denmark decided. "Our time's almost up anyway. Let's go get drunk."

"Sounds good to me, dude." America saluted and they all slunk out of the room together.


	65. Happy New Year I

**Happy New Year (Part I).**

"I hate sitting around the potato bastard house."

Denmark got up to refill his beer. "Shut up and deal with it, will you? It's snowing out, and we have nothing better to do and no place else to go."

"Plus, we have a ton of beer! Kesesese!"

Romano groaned. "Like that's an inducement? Come on, if we can't go anywhere, let's at least think of something to do here." He smacked himself in the forehead. "I can't believe I actually said that."

"What are your holiday plans?" Denmark asked. "Since we're not going to be able to go to Swissy's place this year."

"That's so unawesome. I really wanted to go."

"Well, too bad. We couldn't afford it, and it's not like you could contribute, potato brain."

"I thought you said Arthur was going to buy that house?"

"No, I did not say that. I said that Swissy wanted to sell it…and that England had asked him about it. But it was really, really expensive." Romano felt kind of pleased about that...another Christmas with the albino potato would drive him insane.

"Whatever!" Denmark yelled. "The point is, we're either going to sit around here driving each other nuts all night, or we're going to do something."

"Cheh. Probably both, bastard."

"Anyway, Den, you know I don't have any holiday plans; if I did, they'd be plans with you!" Prussia reached over and ruffled his hair.

"What's everybody else doing? How about your brother?"

"Kesesese. He's taking Veneziano to the Caribbean for a week."

Romano groaned. "You're kidding. You're fucking _kidding._ My idiot brother didn't even tell me that. So he gets to go to the Caribbean, and I get to…stick around with you bozos."

"What about Arthur, though? Don't you guys have plans?"

"Nothing yet."

"Well, you ought to figure something out, or you're going to be all alone!" Prussia gave his friend an arch grin. "That would suck."

"Yes, it would, bastard."

"No." Denmark stood up and stretched. "Nobody's going to be alone. Come on, we'll work out some way we can all hang out, at least." Then he sat back down.

"Like what? Lounging around the potato palace while my brother's off romping in the sunshine? Chigi!"

"Well…Prussia, when are they going on that vacation?"

"Dunno. Let me check the calendar." He went to the computer and looked. "Looks like they leave on the 26th and come back on January 3rd." At this, Den got a somewhat evil look on his face.

"Stop with the scary face, bastard. What are you thinking about?"

"We…could have a New Year's party here, while Germany is gone!"

Silence reigned while the other two tried to find fault with this. They couldn't. "That would be _awesome!"_

"I know." Denmark beamed at his friends.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Romano put in. "Just the three of us hanging around here drinking? Dammit, we do that all the time. We have to make it different somehow."

Prussia was giving him a funny look. "What do you mean, just the three of us? You're not going to invite my good friend Arthur? You're a cold-hearted bastard, Romano!"

"Shut up. I didn't mean that; you know what I meant. We need to make it a real party, not just us hanging around drinking."

"And fighting."

"All right, how's this?" Denmark asked. "Each of us is allowed to bring just one guest. That way it's small enough to be manageable – because we really don't want to end up cleaning a completely trashed house before Germany gets back –"

"You're telling me –"

"– so if we each invite one person that makes eight total, which is completely manageable!"

"What? Where the fuck did you learn your math, bastard? If we each invite one person that makes _six."_

"Don't be so stupid, Romano! I meant that England could be one of the party planners."

"Oh. Sorry. Well, that's good; I don't have to waste my guest slot on him."

 _"Waste_ it? Man, you two really do have the weirdest relationship ever." Den scratched his head.

"So what? It's nothing to do with you, so shut up about it. Let's get back to the party planning."

Prussia thought about this. "Eight people is more affordable than inviting everybody else, too."

"Good point, potato brain. Who's paying for this eight-person extravaganza?"

"Well, if I'm hosting it here at my house, that's my contribution."

"Should have guessed you'd say something like that, bastard. You supply the – the beer."

"Beer and cupcakes!" Prussia crowed.

"Please, no," both his friends chorused.

"But does that sound like a good plan?" Denmark asked. "Should we start planning?"

"Cheh. Sounds all right to me. Get me another beer, albino potato."

Prussia obeyed with a tiny smile. "You know you love my beer."

"Huh, that's a new one. You keep surprising me."

"Do you think I'm just a one-trick pony? No. I have an awesome vocabulary." The albino pouted.

"Whatever!" Denmark was getting fed up and got himself another beer. "Will you two shut up so we can talk about this party?"

"Well, at least we don't need to pick a date, bastards. New Year's is New Year's."

"Should we have a theme? Like a costume party?"

"Yeah," Denmark snorted. "I'll dress as an albino mink."

Prussia looked like he was going to pour his beer over Denmark's head, but then he drank it instead.

"Not a costume party, please. I hate that shit."

" _You'd_ make a cute albino mink, though," Prussia crooned, tickling Romano under the chin.

"Chigi!" Romano smacked his hand away.

"Listen, though, seriously, we can't let West know about this. We just can't. He'll lock up the kegs."

"We have to have better booze than just beer, though, bastards."

"Don't you mean _high-quality liquor_? Kesesese!"

"Hey, that's it!" Den realized. "We should have everyone bring a bottle of some booze that's a national specialty of their country, _and_ a national food. We can still have the beer and other stuff, but that would be a cool theme, not too bizarre. Easy for everyone to do."

"I could deal with that," Romano admitted.

"I'm going to ask Swissy to bring some of those chocolates."

This surprised the Dane. "So you're inviting Swissy, Prussia? Do you really believe that Switzerland will come to our party, if _you_ invite him?"

"Why not? Everybody knows I throw great parties. Plus, if he has a good time, maybe next year he'll let us use his place for cheap."

"That's pretty unlikely. It'd have to be one hell of a party."

"It will be!" Prussia beamed. "My parties always are."

"I'll invite Swissy," Romano said, surprising the others. They stopped drinking and stared at him for a minute.

"Wh- why? I mean, why Swissy?"

"I want some of that chocolate, that's why!" Romano turned red and rubbed a hand over his face.

"How about you, Den? Who will you invite?"

"Norge, I guess, or…oh! America!"

"Seriously?"

"Why not? He's a lot of fun at parties."

"England won't be happy."

"Arthur is never happy."

Romano smirked at him. "Not around _you_ , stupid."

Denmark asked Prussia who he would invite, now that Romano was going to invite Swissy.

"Argh, I don't know. Austria. I wonder who Arthur will invite?"

"Dammit, as long as it's not Spain or France, I don't care. But then, he wouldn't invite them anyway."

"Maybe I'll ask Norge, and then England can ask America."

"You really think Norway will come? I don't even really know him that well," Romano pointed out.

"Well, whatever. If he won't, he won't. But we need to figure out who's going to take care of what stuff, food and whatever."

"Wait a minute," Romano realized. "How are we going to keep this a secret from the potato bastard if we're inviting all these people? We can't wait until the last minute to ask them, or they'll all be busy. Somebody's bound to spill."

"Tell them it's at my place. Then the day before we can call and say it's going to be here," Denmark suggested.

"That's just dumb, though, Den." Prussia poked him. "Why don't we just have it at your place to begin with?"

Then they both turned to Romano. "Oh, no, no, no, bastards, I am absolutely _not_ hosting a drunken blowout at my house. If we have it here, or at Den's, I'll deal with it; I'll contribute and be there and try to have fun, but I refuse to host it at my place. Besides, it doesn't get very cold at my place. Not festive enough for New Year's."

Prussia pouted, but agreed that it was not a good idea to host it at Romano's place.

"Well? My place or yours, loverboy?" Denmark poked Prussia.

"Might as well have it here. I mean, the bar's all set up, and stuff. Plus I kind of like the idea of sneaking around behind West's back to throw a party."

"Me too," Romano smirked.

…

About an hour later, the snow had stopped falling. Party plans were finalized, beer had been drunk, friends were comfortable. "You two staying here tonight?" Prussia asked.

"Might as well, dammit. Too tired to head back home tonight. Go get the bed stuff." Romano stretched out on the couch.

"Light a fire while I'm gone, all right?"

"Cheh, yes, all right." He got up to lay and light the fire while Prussia ran off to find pillows and blankets.

"We're going to have a great New Year's," Denmark said happily, once they were all snuggled in front of the fire. "I love parties."

"Kesesese!"


	66. Happy New Year II

**Happy New Year (Part II).**

Everything seemed to be in place. It was five o'clock and the hosts were all lounging around Prussia and Germany's living room with beer. Other than stringing Christmas lights all over the room, they hadn't decorated much.

Prussia had the kegs lined up.

Romano had brought pasta. Lots and lots of pasta.

Denmark's gravlaks and risalamande were in the refrigerator.

England had brought several fruitcakes, several cases of rum, and scones. Prussia had discreetly tossed the scones out in the back yard for the birds. He hoped the birds would eat them before Arthur found out what he'd done.

"So who's on the guest list?" England asked. "I invited America, but the wanker wasn't sure he'd show. He said he might be visiting Japan or Russia."

"I invited Swissy," Romano said, "and he's coming. He's bringing a lot of chocolate from the chocolate boat people." Everyone smiled at that fond memory, except the island nation, who growled.

"Austria's coming! He's so awesomely excited. He hasn't been to one of my parties in a long time. Poland wanted him to go to his place, but he turned him down so he could come here!"

"What's he bringing?"

"I didn't even ask, but you know, he always brings the best stuff. He won't come to a _party_ with cheap stuff, no matter how cheap he is at home." Everyone agreed.

Den raised his mug in a toast to his friends. "Norway is definitely coming, but may be a little late. He's going to Ice's place first; Ice is having a little party and Norge wants to go see Sweden and Finland. I don't know what he's bringing; he wants to surprise me."

"Sounds like we have it all under control."

…

An hour later the doorbell rang. Prussia skipped to the door to answer it. "Hey, Swissy! And – uh – h-hi there, Liechtenstein! Happy New Year!" Huh. Well, one more guest wouldn't be a problem. "Come in! You guys are the first ones here."

He led them into the house, where Denmark, Romano and England all had equally confused looks on their faces. England rose to the occasion first, coming over to greet them. Romano offered to get drinks for them while Prussia and Denmark took their bags of chocolates and Chasselas wine into the kitchen.

"Are we going to have enough stuff?" Den asked Prussia in the kitchen.

"Yes, it's awesomely under control. You can't imagine _Liechtenstein's_ going to go boozing it up or pigging all our food?" He snorted. "No, don't sweat it."

The doorbell rang again and Prussia ran to answer it, leaving Denmark in the kitchen putting things on plates. "Austria! Oh, my so-dear friend, please come in, kesesese! I'm so glad to see you!" Austria entered, leading Hungary by the hand; Poland and Lithuania followed. "Oh. And – and Hungary too, how nice! Poland! Lithuania! Uh, give me your bags. Arthur, will you get some drinks for these guys?"

England and Romano looked at each other, shrugged, and greeted the new arrivals; England poured them each a beer. Austria immediately went to talk to Switzerland, and Hungary to Liechtenstein. Poland sat on the couch next to Switzerland, but they didn't look at each other. Lithuania kindly offered to help England at the bar.

Romano and Prussia escaped into the kitchen to warn Den. "Dammit! Austria brought Hungary, _and_ Poland, _and_ Lithuania! We're going to run out of food."

"Settle down, will you? Everybody's bringing food, so we can just eat chocolates and – uh – whatever they awesomely brought." Prussia looked into the bag. "Huh. Smells like schnitzel."

"Figures," Romano snorted. "Potato bastard food. Well, I'll stick with my pasta."

Denmark looked around the kitchen. "Do we need to do anything else here?"

"No. Go out and socialize; pour me a beer, I'll be right out," Prussia answered. He gave Romano a little push. "Go." So Denmark and Romano went back out to the party.

"Thanks for leaving me alone out here, wanker."

"Shut up, bastard. Give me a drink."

England gave him a drink. The doorbell rang; Denmark answered it. "Hey, man!" America yelled. He barged into the house leading Canada and Japan. "Russia's going to be along a little later, all right?" In a panic, Den handed the bags off to Romano and made a beeline for the kitchen. England began getting drinks for the new arrivals.

"Our eight-person extravaganza is already up to fifteen people," Denmark hissed to Prussia. "That's nearly _double_ what we were expecting! I hope we have enough stuff!"

"This is really going to be awesome" was Prussia's response as he downed the rest of his beer. Den elbowed him, but started carrying plates of food out to put on the side tables.

"Dammit," Romano muttered to him, moving to help him. "This is going to be out of control. Either we're going to run out of stuff and it's going to be the most boring party ever, or everybody's going to get drunk and rip the house apart! _Dammit_. We're going to be here _all week_ cleaning up!"

"Don't stress. Have a beer. There's nothing we can do about it. No way to nicely send people home. Maybe Norge won't show; that will help a little. Anyway, we still have a couple days to clean up before Germany gets back, if it's really that bad." Denmark drank some beer.

England came over to join them. "Where's the music? Are we putting anything on the telly?"

"Yeah, put it on," Romano decided. "Extra noise might make people forget about eating and drinking!"

The island nation put on the stereo and Romano put on the muted television. Nobody paid any attention. Within minutes, everyone was drinking, laughing and talking. Poland and Lithuania had already begun dancing to the festive beat pouring from the stereo; America and Canada had begun bickering with each other in front of the television set. Everyone else was calmly chatting and seemed to be relaxing. "Well, as long as they're all having fun…?" Denmark suggested.

"I need a drink!" Prussia moved to the bar and poured himself another beer. "Anybody else?" England and Den got beer; Romano did not.

"Hey, Romano!" America called. "Come over here! We need a tiebreaker."

He wandered over. "Tiebreaker for what, bastard?"

"Which channel?"

Immediately everyone in the room started offering opinions on what shows to watch. The noise level escalated alarmingly. Romano used his status as host to grab the remote from America and overrule everyone, putting on a football game.

"Aw! Not soccer, Romano!"

"It's _football!_ " everyone else in the room shouted. Even Japan. America fell back on the sofa and covered his embarrassed face with a cushion.

Romano took the remote and hid it. Football would be good enough for now. Later they could look for something more festive.

Den and Prussia had finally finished putting all the guests' food out on the side tables. Everyone madly swarmed towards the tables, grabbing things to eat. Most of Romano's delicious pasta was gone in minutes. England didn't get to eat any, and it made him stroppy. "Bollocks. Give me another beer, Gilbert!"

Prussia obliged.

…

Austria and Denmark sat deep in conversation in the corner of the room. "But you know that my country will never suffer the effects of a tsunami," Austria pointed out. He delicately ate a piece of Swiss chocolate. "It simply can't happen."

"Well, this is what worries me. My country is perfectly poised to suffer the effects, and I really need to start developing contingency plans. I don't need that kind of trauma at my place."

"I'm sure if you talked to Japan he could help you. He's had some of the darkest tsunamis in history, and dealt with them as effectively as possible."

"Yes. Perhaps I will. You're lucky, Austria, that you don't have this issue." Denmark scratched his head and drank some rum.

"I know, but I do have other things to worry about."

"I suppose we all do."

…

Romano stepped up to Lithuania. "Bastard, you don't need to be helping with the serving. We can take care of that."

Lithuania smiled politely. "I don't mind at all. Poland is in a bit of a snit, so I need to do something to take my mind off it."

"Cheh. Did you have any pasta?" Romano didn't know Lithuania well, but he'd always seemed rather unassuming. He figured it wouldn't be too stressful to talk to him for a while, especially because his friends were all busy entertaining other guests.

"I'm sorry I didn't get to try any. Everyone came up to the table so fast; it was gone before I got here!"

"That's all right. At least there's plenty of other stuff to eat. Come on, grab a plate and let's sit down."

Lithuania did. They found unoccupied chairs in the dining room and sat. "You have kind of a reputation for being really nice and helpful," Romano said as a conversation starter.

"I know, but boy, that's hard to maintain! Some days I just want to scream and throw things."

They laughed together. "I know exactly how that feels."

"Yes, but from what I understand, you _do_ scream and throw things!"

"I don't believe in repressing my feelings, dammit," Romano stated. "Ask anybody."

"I don't exactly _repress_ them. I feel like I'm expected to maintain this holy demeanor and it's tough."

"Like having an invisible halo, right?"

"Right!" They clinked their glasses together and drank.

…

Switzerland had finally unbent enough to start speaking to America. "What's new at your place?"

"There's a new craze sweeping the nation," America said excitedly. "People are creating little animated logos of swirling psychedelic designs to use instead of QR codes! Everyone is getting into it. I even designed one myself. It's got a lizard on it, a swirling pink lizard on a bright blue background."

"I hate lizards."

"Fair enough. Want me to make one for you? Not a lizard, I mean. Maybe a – a swirling yellow gun on a green background?"

"What for, though? I don't really need a QR code…or an animated swirl logo."

"But they're so cool! I'll tell you what, I'll design one and send it to you, and then you'll have it when you need it."

"Fine. Could you get me another beer?"

"Sure, man! And I could use one myself. I'll be right back." America left him to head to the bar.

…

The doorbell rang. "Oh, must be Norway," Prussia said to Poland. "Hang on. I'll be right back."

"What _ever_!" Poland flipped his hair back and turned away from his host.

When Prussia got to the door he nearly dropped his beer; standing on the porch was not only Norway, but also Iceland, Sweden, and Finland! "Ha – happy new year?"

"H'p'y N'Year," Sweden said, pushing past him and leading Finland by the hand into the house. Finland was dressed in his Santa costume and looked quite cute.

"I hope you don't mind me bringing them along, Prussia," Norway said, dragging Iceland inside. "Happy New Year."

Prussia just stood there with the door open, letting the cold air in, feeling baffled. How had this party escalated to this? _Four_ more guests? He finally realized what he was doing and slammed the door shut, pushing through the crowd to find Den.

He dragged his friend into the kitchen, but Hungary and Canada were in there having an argument about dancing. Then he tried to drag Denmark upstairs, but Japan was in the way. "Damn it!" Prussia yelled, hauling his friend out into the back yard. Ha. Even desperate birds in the middle of winter didn't want Arthur's scones. "Did you see that? Norway brought _all_ of the other Nordics with him!" he hissed.

"Cool!"

"Den! That is not the point! They didn't bring anything with them! _Nothing!_ "

"You worry too much. At this point nobody's going to care. They'll just assume we've all been pigging out all night! Go back in and get drunk."

"I don't know if I _can._ Don't know if there's enough booze _._ "

 _"High-quality liquor."_

"Shut up. Come on back in and help."

…

Japan was always a little reserved around some of the louder nations like Denmark and Prussia, but when he found himself standing next to Iceland he decided to try striking up a conversation. "How is the industry in your remote land proceeding?"

"Quite well. We have a new method of stonewashing denim fabric."

Japan too was having a denim craze at the moment, and said so.

Iceland nodded. "It's becoming quite popular at our place. We use a new acid enzyme made from the distilled juice of the Arctic willow leaf."

"And this is a good method? Perhaps I will investigate similar methods."

"Yes. We are also experimenting with things like beetroot and sunflowers to get dyed denim."

"Fascinating!"

…

England cornered his former protégé. "Now listen, Canada, I know you have the best maple syrup, but what about other kinds of syrup?"

"What other kind is there?" Canada asked politely.

"I don't know, git! Strawberry syrup? Blackberry syrup? Rhubarb syrup!"

"We don't make any of those."

"You're joking. What about treacle?"

The mousy blond shrugged. "We do make treacle, but it's not very popular."

"Huh. What did you bring for us to eat tonight?"

"Butter tarts, but I think someone ate them all already."

"Blast. I love butter tarts. Oh well. Want another drink?"

"Uh…well, why not? I'm drinking rum and Coke."

"Smart boy," England laughed, and moved off to the bar.

…

"Hey, Liechtenstein, how are you?"

"Oh – er – Prussia, hi…I'm fine!" Liechtenstein looked around in a panic for someone who could intervene here. Prussia always made her so nervous.

"Want a drink? We have some awesome rum that England brought."

"Ah, no, I was – was just looking for Hungary. Have you seen her?"

"Kesesese! She's upstairs with Finland. Talking about his Santa costume. I think they're in West's bedroom," he laughed, waggling his eyebrows.

Liechtenstein bolted.

…

Sweden sat quietly in the corner, watching the rest of the party. When the doorbell rang and nobody went to open the door, he got up and walked over to open it. Russia stood there, looking slightly taken aback. "Hello, Sweden!" he smiled. The Swede nodded slowly and stepped back from the door to allow Russia entrance.

"Russia!" America yelled, running over to embrace him. The blond was quite, quite drunk, but had managed to stay on his feet all evening.

Russia allowed the embrace, but did not return it. He handed off a bag to Denmark, who was standing nearest. "Thank you for inviting me, Denmark," he said with a smile.

"Uh, you're welcome?" Denmark seized the opportunity to escape to the kitchen with the bag.

Romano was madly trying to find some more food to put out, and failing. "What's in the bag?"

"Don't know. Russia just got here; it's his bag." They looked inside. "Pancakes?"

"Russian pancakes are called _blini_ , bastard," Romano said.

"Wow! I'm surprised you know that." Denmark ruffled Romano's hair, and the brunet smoothed it back down.

" _Chigi_! I know a lot of stuff."

"Yeah, I know. Help me get these out on the table."

After they took the loaded plates out to the buffet table, they spared a few minutes to look around at the party guests. It seemed that Poland had passed out already. That was kind of surprising; it was only ten-thirty. Swissy, Japan and Norway were now nowhere to be seen, but everyone else was still drinking.

"Looks like everybody's having fun, at least," England said, sneaking up behind them with a glass of water.

"Water? Bastard, have you gone insane?"

"No! I'm just trying to spare the booze for the guests!"

"That's so thoughtful of you, Arthur," Prussia said, coming up to them with a beer. "You'll notice I'm drinking anyway, kesesese."

"Yes, I noticed, git. But we have a lot of beer, right?"

"We-e-ll," Prussia admitted, "not as much as you might think. America in particular has been pounding down the beer, and now that Russia's here the two of them seem to be having some kind of contest." They all looked over to where the two nations leaned against the bar chugging beer. "Also, we didn't have as many spare kegs as I'd thought, and I didn't want to ask West to buy more before he went away; I didn't want him getting suspicious."

"You're an _idiot_ , Gilbert. You could have asked one of us!"

"Oh. Yeah. Oh, well."

His friends all rolled their eyes. "Well, what, then?" Denmark asked. "How close are we to running out of stuff?"

They all moved to the bar and began rummaging around behind it. "All the rum is gone! Why is the rum gone?" England yelled. "Wankers."

"Swissy's wine is all gone, too, dammit."

"Don't you and Germany have a drinks cabinet, Gilbert? Isn't there anything in there we could use?"

Prussia thought. "Yes. We could make some punch. We have Sekt and some Kirschwasser?"

"Ugh." Denmark made a face. "Don't know how well that will go over."

"Are you kidding, bastard? Everybody but us is drunk already! They'll take anything they can get their hands on."

"Good point. Come on, Prussia, let's go make the punch." Denmark and Prussia slipped away.

"Hey, Iggy!" America yelled.

"What? Don't yell, I'm standing right here."

"Have a beer!" America pulled a beer for the island nation.

"Want a beer, Romano?"

"No thanks, bastard. I'm fine with my drink."

"What are you drinking, anyway, git?"

"Uh." Romano leaned over to whisper in England's ear. "Club soda. I was trying to spare the booze for the guests, too." They shared a smirk before turning back to America and Russia.

"Are you two having a drinking contest?" Romano asked them.

"Yes! But of course I will win, because America started drinking long before I did. In any case America is a lightweight, da?"

"Da," the others agreed with a grin, as America put on a puppy-dog pout.

"Arthur! Come help us carry this stuff!" Prussia's head poked out of the kitchen.

"Righto. Back in a minute." He set his beer on the bar and went into the kitchen.

"Romano, your pasta was awesome. Nobody makes pasta like you, not even your brother. Hey, where is your brother, anyway?"

"Da, and where is Germany?"

America giggled. "Maybe they went upstairs already?"

"Chigi! No. The potato bastard took him to the Caribbean for the holidays." Romano made a very sour face.

"Lucky Veneziano."

"Lucky Germany," America countered.

"Bastards."

Prussia came over to them, apparently having settled the Kirschwasser punch effectively. "Hungary passed out," he said, drinking his beer.

"Dammit. We're going to be the only ones left standing."

"No way, man!" America struck his heroic pose. "There's _no way_ I'm passing out."

Denmark came over. "Where the hell is Ice? And Norway!"

"No idea," Prussia said. "Kesesese."

"Filthy-minded boy." England smacked Prussia on the ass, and he turned around and gave the blond a hug and a kiss. Russia and America went back to their drinking, and England finished his beer.

…

A loud yell came from upstairs. All four of the friends stopped chatting and ran upstairs to see what was going on. In Germany's bedroom, Norway and Canada were drunkenly jumping on the bed, screaming and laughing. "Norge?"

" _Canada?"_

"Hi, guys!" Canada yelled. "This bed is perfect for jumping, eh!" He took Norway's hand and they leaped off the bed, screaming. The four hosts scrambled backwards out of the room and ran downstairs. They heard the drunken laughter continue as they scurried into the living room.

"That was fucking _weird,_ bastards."

"I want to jump on a bed," Prussia decided. "Come on, Den, let's go jump on a bed! Kesesese!"

Romano snarled at him. "Don't be stupid, dammit. You can't. You're the host! Anyway, it's soon midnight. Let's see if we can dig up some more food and drink." Prussia punched Romano in the arm, but agreed.

..

It was getting close to midnight. England and Prussia went upstairs to find missing guests (at this point Iceland, Liechtenstein, and Lithuania); Den and Romano placed the very last of the food and drink on the table. "Bastard, I'm starving."

"Well, eat something!"

"There's nothing left but the fucking _schnitzel!_ You know how I feel about that shit."

"Then shut up and starve," Denmark laughed. He'd finally allowed himself to start drinking in earnest, no longer caring whether the guests had enough to drink or not.

Romano grudgingly put some schnitzel on a plate. They stepped off to the side of the room to observe. The noise level was still pretty high. Finland had crossed to sit on Sweden's lap and the two of them were quietly murmuring in the corner, but otherwise the remaining guests, even Japan, were loud and excited.

America had finally stopped drinking; he was leaning against the couch, but still upright, hugging and talking to Austria. "That's surprising," Romano pointed it out to Denmark.

"You're telling _me_."

"Whatever. Get me a beer, will you, bastard?"

"Sure."

…

Upstairs, Prussia and England peeked into every room, looking for the three missing guests. "Bloody hell!" England finally yelled. "Do you have some kind of secret room? Where are they?"

"Beats me. Oh! Maybe they went down to my room?"

"Why the hell would they do that? Bollocks, I really need a drink."

"Yes, you do! You're really crabby! Come on, let's go look in my room." They scurried down the back staircase and into Prussia's basement room. Nothing.

"Damn it! Well, if they miss the official New Year, it's not my problem," Prussia decided, taking off his shirt.

"What the hell are you doing, wanker?"

"It's too hot up there. I want to change my clothes. Just be a pal, wait here while I get undressed, will you?"

"Whatever, Gilbert. Whatever."

Prussia undressed to his underwear and then put on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. "Awesome! Shorts in December! Kesesese. Come on, let's go back upstairs."

"Git."

…

By the time they got up to the living room again, Austria and America had both collapsed onto the floor, still hugging each other. Liechtenstein had reappeared and seemed a little tipsy as she tried to speak with her brother, but Switzerland was fighting sleep himself, and didn't seem to be paying much attention to her. There was nothing left at all to eat or drink. Romano looked in dismay at the litter all over the place. Dirty plates and cutlery, dirty glasses, food on the carpets, empty bottles…dammit, it really _was_ going to take them a week to clean. At least nobody'd gotten sick yet. At least, not that he could see.

Norway and Lithuania were drunkenly dancing together, singing along to the pop tunes on the stereo and jumping around. This was bizarre enough that the party hosts stood and watched for a minute in a sort of stupor. "Oi! There's only fifteen minutes to midnight!" Prussia finally realized.

In the corner, Sweden and Finland looked up. Finland smiled, and Sweden nodded. Nobody else in the room reacted at all.

"Dammit. We're missing some people, aren't we?"

"Yes! Bloody hell, we still can't find Iceland or Japan!"

"Maybe they went out back?" Denmark scratched his head.

"I'll go take a look," Romano offered.

"Might as well come with you." Den set his beer down and they went out into the back yard.

Yes, there were the two missing nations. It looked like they were playing horseshoes. "What are you doing, Ice?"

"We found these interesting rocks and we're trying to see if we can throw them across the yard without letting them go over the boundary." Iceland held up one of the projectiles. Denmark began laughing hysterically.

"Why are you laughing?" Japan asked politely.

"Those aren't rocks! Those are England's scones!" Denmark was laughing so hard he had to sit down. "Throw them as far as you can. We didn't want him to see that we threw them out here."

"But that's not very polite," Iceland pointed out.

Romano had a little smirk on his face. "You've never actually tried to eat one of these, have you, bastard? Come on, just throw them and come in. It's almost midnight."

"Oh!" Japan dropped the scone and headed right back in. The others followed a little more leisurely.

…

Everyone who was still able to stand had come back into the living room for the countdown. Prussia was happily hugging Denmark, who looked a little embarrassed, but…everyone else was drunk, so, what the hell!

The nations all stood together to usher in the New Year. Romano surreptitiously took England's hand and received a tiny smile and squeeze in response.

"Five – four – three – two – one!" Everyone yelled and began cheering.

Nobody noticed that the front door had opened. Germany and Veneziano stood there, letting in the cold air, staring at the fallen guests, the detritus, in shock. _"Prussia-a-a!"_ Germany bellowed.

The party hosts took one look at his stormy, red face, and fled out the back door. "Come on, let's go to my place," Den said, and they ran off together, laughing hysterically.

…

 _I used the anagram generator to come up with some of the bizarre conversational topics. I put all the names into a hat and pulled out random pairs:_

 _Austria/Denmark = A Darker Tsunami_

 _Romano/Lithuania = Maintain Our Halo_

 _Switzerland/America = Animated Swirl Craze (Swissy really makes the best anagrams!)_

 _Japan/Iceland: Acid Jean Plan_

 _Prussia/England: A Pal Undressing_


	67. Summer Vacation

**Summer Vacation**

Prussia cradled his head in his hands. "Argh. I don't have a hangover, but – ugh! The thought of going back home and listening to West nag at me for the party is not fun."

"Don't go," Denmark suggested. "You know you can stay here as long as you want."

"I'm going to have to go back eventually."

"What the hell was he even doing there? I thought they were in the Caribbean until the 5th or something?"

"Beats me. Maybe they broke up? Kesesese."

"Don't be stupid; Veneziano was _with him_ last night!"

"Oh, yeah. Hey, Romano, bring me some coffee!"

From the kitchen, Romano called back, "Yes, all right, dammit. How about you, Denmark?"

"Just bring the whole pot out."

New Year's Day was always a bit stressful for most nations. England had already headed home to begin focusing on his upcoming duties, but the other three had been sitting around recapping the party and just talking about stuff, wondering how all the party guests had fared under Germany's sober, angry eye.

Romano came back in with the coffee pot and a mugful for Prussia. "Now that the holidays are over, I'm kind of wishing we'd gone to Swissy's place again. It feels like this holiday was just too weak compared to all that stuff we did last year." He sat next to Prussia on the couch.

"Or something. Yeah." Prussia took the coffee gratefully and drank a big gulp. "Ow. This is too hot."

"Just let it cool down first, idiot."

"We should plan some other kind of vacation, though," Denmark decided. "We always have so much fun together."

Romano snorted, but Prussia gave him a big grin. "Kesesese! Yes! Let's plan a summer vacation this time."

"Yeah, but where will we go? Bastards. I refuse to spend a whole vacation in potato land."

Both his friends laughed at him. "But that wouldn't be a vacation for me, anyway."

"We could go to Japan."

Prussia shook his head violently. "Aw, Den, you know I hate going there. It's completely unawesome that I can't read the writing."

"That rules out places like Russia, too, albino potato."

"I know, I know."

They thought about this for a little while. "We – uh – we could go to Canada, or America?" Den suggested. He poured himself some more coffee.

"I don't really have a problem with America." Romano drank his coffee and thought about this. "I've been to a couple places on the east coast – New York, and Washington, but – America's a big place. Maybe we could find some area that's not as well-known, and explore it? Or just someplace the three of us have never been?"

"That's a great idea, Romano!" Prussia set his mug down and hugged his friend.

"Get off me."

"Aw. You know I have the best hugs." Prussia's determination to alter his not-a-catchphrase had apparently ceased to amuse. When he got no response from either of his friends, not even an eye roll, he let go of Romano and leaned back on the couch, pouting. "Anyway, it _is_ a great idea. What do you guys know about America?"

"We should look at a map." Denmark got up to fetch an atlas.

"First we should figure out when we want to go, bastards."

"No, we should figure out how long we're going to be there! Then we can figure out where to go, or how long to spend in each awesome place."

"Map." Denmark hit Prussia over the head with the atlas.

"Ow! Den! Come on, you're being crabby. Let's look at the map, then." Prussia then got a gleam in his eye that did not go unnoticed by his friends.

"What are you plotting now, evil potato?"

"America's got different coffee shops. Maybe I can find some new rare spoons!" Nobody responded to that, either. "You guys are a couple of party poopers."

"Shut up and look at the map." Denmark poked him.

They spent a few attentive minutes looking at the map. "Well, how the hell should I know?" Romano pointed out. "I don't know anything except the Northeast!"

"Some of these places are bound to be a bit boring," Denmark admitted. "I always hear this term 'middle America' where there's not much going on."

"Well, then we should pick a big city – not in the Northeast – and kind of hang around that one city, right?" Prussia beamed with self-congratulation.

Romano snorted. "Sounds okay to me, but how the hell are we going to pick out a city? Again, I have no idea."

"Los Angeles is pretty popular."

"Kesesese, we might see some movie stars!"

"Let's make a list of possible cities." Denmark got a pencil and paper and handed it to Romano, who had the neatest handwriting.

"Shoot, bastards."

After about twenty minutes, they had a list of five cities in America that might be worth visiting: Los Angeles, Chicago, Seattle, Dallas and Miami. "No," Romano realized, "Miami in the summer is going to be too hot."

"Yeah. Too much sunscreening required." Den poked Prussia.

"So do we want to put a different city on here, instead of Miami, or just knock the list down to four?" Romano scratched his head with the pencil.

"Take Miami off the list" was Prussia's opinion. "Four is still a good number to choose from."

"Well, then, how the hell do we choose? Too many cities to flip a fucking coin."

"No, what we should do is research each place and see what has the most stuff we'd like to do."

"Kesesese, yes, or talk to America about it."

Romano stared. "Wow. A good idea actually came out of that brain full of potatoes."

"Shut up." Denmark poked him _._ "But, this reminds me. Are you going to ask England to come with us?"

"That sour old warmonger," Prussia muttered, laughing.

"Well…he probably couldn't go. He's so busy with his nation stuff."

"Listen, Romano, I'm so tired of this!" Denmark looked really angry and slammed the atlas shut. " _Every single time_ , we ask you about him, and you _always_ say no, and then we ask him, and he always says yes! Is there some reason you don't want him to go?"

The half-nation looked taken aback. "No! I'd love to have him go, especially because it would distract me from the albino potato."

"Kesesese."

"But – well –"

"You know I'm right," Denmark pointed out. "He _always_ says yes."

"Cheh, fine, whatever. I'll ask him."

"Hey, don't feel like you're _obliged_ to ask. I just thought you might have fun that way. Since he gets along with all of us."

"Whatever! I'll – I'll figure it out. Just don't say anything to him. Let me think about it."

"He's too chicken to ask," Prussia stage-whispered to Den, who laughed.

"Fine. We promise not to say anything to England. Right, Prussia?"

"I won't say anything to England," Prussia agreed, but both Romano and Denmark realized what he was so carefully trying not to say.

"You can't say anything to _Arthur_ , either, Prussia."

"So not awesome. How come you guys knew what I was thinking?"

"Cheh."

"So you'll figure out about England, and we – we have a meeting coming up, so we can talk to America about our four cities. Right?"

"When's the meeting, bastard?"

Den checked his calendar. "Early February. In – oh. It's in Seattle."

"Well, that's actually pretty awesome! We can all go to the meeting and have a mini vacation there, and then take Seattle off the choices list!"

"I don't have a problem with that, potato brain; I was already planning to go to the meeting. Is that all right with you, Den?"

"Sure. It's a five-day meeting; maybe we can all take the weekend before and after, and have our little mini time?"

"Kesesese!" Prussia stood on the couch and started jumping. "Awesome year full of vacations, yeah!"

"Let's do it," Romano agreed. "We can talk to America at the meeting."

The three friends agreed, and began making preparations to head back to their homes.


	68. Modeling

**Modeling.**

Den called his boyfriend. "Hey. Can you come over today? Some – well, some people need me to do something, and I want you and Romano to help too."

"Sure, I don't mind. Does Romano know yet? Maybe he can meet me and we can come over together?"

"Yeah, if you could give him a call and get him to come over – I mean, I realize it might be tough for you to convince him – but that would help. I – uh – have to do a lot of prep work."

"Den, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Never mind! Just come over as soon as you can, and bring Romano!"

Hmm. Prussia would need to strategize a little, before phoning his Italian friend.

…

"Oh, _Romanoooo_ ~…"

"Grr. What."

Maybe Prussia's opening gambit hadn't been the smartest. He tried a different approach. "Well, you know who this is, right?"

"Do you think I'm an idiot? Of course I know it's you, albino potato. What do you want?"

"I don't want anything; Den does."

"He's in trouble?"

"No! No, what gives you that idea?"

"Listen, Prussia, what the hell are you calling me for, dammit?"

Prussia took a deep breath. "Denmark wants us both to come over today. There's something going on – he won't tell me what – but he wants you and me to be there to help him. Something with other people, and he's busy doing stuff to prepare, so he didn't have time to call you."

"You're serious."

"Of course I'm serious! If we just wanted to hang out, we'd say so!"

"Cheh. Fine. Since it's for Den, I'll do it. Should I just go to his place?"

"Kesesese! No, come here, and I'll drive us over."

"Yes, all right. Give me a little while."

"As soon as we can, Den said!"

"Chigi! Fine! I'm on my way."

…

Denmark answered the door in a V-neck white cotton sweater, shirt, and white pleated pants, which was kind of bizarre for January. "Hi, come on in."

Prussia and Romano looked at each other in confusion, but they came in. "Why are you all dressed up?" Romano asked. Prussia absently hugged his boyfriend, but he still looked a little concerned.

"Come in, come to the living room and I'll explain."

In Denmark's spacious living room, about twelve men and women milled about, setting up cameras and lights and draping the furniture in colored sheets. Racks of clothing stood against one wall, boxes of toys and props nearby. Two women had set up makeup tables near the windows. A side table with a small buffet stood next to them, complete with a commercial coffee urn.

"What the fuck?" Prussia and Romano chorused. Romano nudged the albino and pointed to a covered animal cage under the window.

A few of these people turned and looked at them, but only one man started to come over as if to speak with them. Denmark waved him away. His friends noticed that this man kept staring at them with his jaw dropped, rubbing his chin pensively, the entire time Den was tendering the following explanation. "We – uh, well, it's time for the Danish Summer Tourism ads to be photographed. I usually model for the ads, and this year I asked if you guys could come and be in the ads with me. That's all."

"You – want us to – to _model,_ bastard?" Romano had a sudden panic attack. "Dammit, I don't know much about that shit; it's more Veneziano's thing."

But Prussia was ecstatic. "Kesesese! We're gonna look so good!" He immediately started eying up the racks of clothing, bouncing up and down.

Denmark put his arms around Romano. "If you don't want to – I understand completely. But maybe you could stay here while they take pictures of Prussia and me? It's usually a pretty fun day, and it would be cool to have you hanging out."

"Cheh, yes, I don't mind that at all. What exactly do you have to do?" Romano looked around; Prussia had managed to slip away and was leafing through the clothing racks, holding things up to his body and admiring them. The staring man had begun gaping at Den and Romano; Denmark still had his arms around the half-nation, like a loose hug, and they were talking in low, intimate tones.

"First they make us up – they already did me, but they'll have to do Prussia next – and then we just change in and out of outfits, with props, and stand around getting our pictures taken. We stand before the backdrops, or a green screen, and they fix it up later. It's not really a big deal. We should be done by dinnertime, and then we can all go out? Or, hey, give England a call, maybe we can meet up with him for dinner, maybe go out drinking? We should be done by six."

"I'm surprised you didn't call him to come over," Romano admitted. "You're always doing ninja relationship shit like that for me."

"After what you said about the vacation I decided to stop meddling. You do what you want. If you want to see him, call him, but…it's probably too late for this part. By the time he got here, we'd be half done anyway."

"Yeah. I'll call him about dinner, though. Haven't seen him since New Year's." He and Den exchanged a quick hug before Romano moved to the side of the room, more interested in this process than he was letting on. Fashion really was more in Veneziano's line. He pulled out his phone and, somewhat distracted, called England to make arrangements to meet at Denmark's at 6:30. Afterwards, someone offered him a high director's chair and a cup of coffee; he sat in the corner of the room, watching. Denmark had taken the opportunity to get a refill on his coffee, as well.

"Uh – what's in the cage?" Romano asked a nearby worker. Prussia stopped what he was doing to listen.

"It's a pair of lorikeets from one of our zoos," the man answered. "One is a rainbow lory and one is an albino." The man beamed at Prussia.

"Kesesese! It's like a theme today!" He went to the makeup chair and sat down. "Awesome albino tourism in Denmark!" Romano and Denmark groaned.

…

The first set was aboard a mockup of a cruise ship – Copenhagen was a port of call for many cruise lines. Denmark, as they'd seen, was already dressed for this; Prussia put on his Danish cruise fashions – first, black pants and a white cotton Oxford shirt with a red tie. Other than some darkening of the eyebrows and eyelashes, Prussia had not needed much makeup. Everyone had had to listen to his self-satisfied boasting when he'd learned that.

He and Den were then photographed with props and backdrops to make them appear as if they were on board ship. "Romano, seriously, you should come do this! It's so fun!" Prussia cackled a little, brandishing a shuffleboard tang. He'd already narrowly missed decapitating a Klieg light with it.

Denmark shook his head. "Come on, Romano, help me. Join us!"

"Chigi! I don't want to wear makeup!"

"It's not so bad," Denmark began. "It's not like they make you look like a girl or anything."

The makeup artists looked at Romano appreciatively. "Sir, we've been studying you; we don't think you'd need any makeup at all; maybe just a little tinted lip balm. You look really good just like you are." Both the Danish girls blushed and joined hands as they beamed at him.

Romano too blushed and then smiled; Prussia yelled "Awesome! Come on!" and spun in place. Several people near him ducked reflexively.

"Will you do it?" Denmark pleaded.

"Do you – do you seriously need me?"

"Yes!" everyone chorused. "You'd make an excellent contrast with these two," the shoot's director pointed out dreamily.

Denmark scooted over and hugged him. "Please?" he whispered. "Help me with him? I'll buy your drinks tonight?"

Romano laughed. Learning that he didn't need to wear makeup had gone a long way towards softening him up. And knowing he'd be allowed to boss the albino potato around in front of all these people? Priceless. "Sure. What do I need to do?"

The makeup girls put him into the chair and applied tinted lip balm to his parted lips with a lip brush, simpering and flirting with him; he easily flirted back. The girls then decided his hair needed a little work. They spent a little too much time and attention running their fingers through his hair and trying to style it, but eventually admitted it was perfect as it was. Romano could hear "Kesesese!" behind him – repeatedly – but eventually he was allowed to get out of the chair.

While he'd been in the chair, both Prussia and Denmark had refilled their coffee cups and gotten a snack.

The wardrobe girl nervously handed Romano some cruise wear and he changed behind a temporary screen just as his friends had done. He was intrigued by the idea of appearing in Danish advertisements. It would be fun to show off in front of his idiot brother and England when the ads appeared in print. He chuckled a little behind the screen. He'd bet nobody ever asked the _potato bastard_ to model anything.

When he came out, dressed in a crisp white linen suit with a pale blue shirt, his tie having just the barest breath of mint green, Prussia whistled and blew him a kiss, pointing towards him with the tang, making the crew step back in alarm. "Romano, you really are the hottest thing ever," he said, grinning. Denmark poked him. "Well, he is! Look at him. I wish I'd gotten to you before Arthur did."

"Idiot," Denmark said, hugging him. "You were already dating me when they got together."

"Oh yeah. _Oh!_ Den – come here." The albino hugged his boyfriend and pulled him down a little to whisper into his ear.

Denmark began laughing. "You want to try it, be my guest," he laughed, "but – forget it. I'm not getting involved." He slung his arm around Prussia's shoulders as they looked at Romano speculatively.

" _Chigi!_ You are _not_ getting a look at my underwear, you transparent maniac." Romano pushed Prussia aside.

"Aw, but you know you want to show me!"

Suddenly the three friends noticed that the entire photography crew stood gawking at them. One of the makeup girls had a nosebleed and was frantically trying to staunch the flow with some cotton pads. Two of the cameramen were supporting each other with glazed expressions, and the director had started fanning himself with his hand. "What the fuck?" Romano asked.

But Den and Prussia started laughing. "Come on, let's get these pictures taken."

…

For the next part, they would be working in casualwear, in front of a green screen, which would later be replaced with pictures of famous Danish landmarks. Everyone took a short break while the models changed and got coffee and snacks to fuel themselves.

Prussia didn't want to give up his tang, but the director pointed out that he'd look silly traveling around to monuments with it in his hand, so he reluctantly switched it for a prop mug of beer. Much to his disappointment, it was not real beer, but resin; the director kindly explained that real beer was too likely to slop around and ruin the photo shoot. Prussia pouted, but Denmark laughed at him, flourishing his empty coffee mug.

"Shut up, bastard; I'll buy you a beer later, but just behave yourself, for Den's sake."

"Awesome. We should have made a bet. I would have bet you'd never willingly spend your money on _beer_."

"Can it, Prussia. You know he'd get England to buy it, just to get around the bet."

"Oh, yeah, probably." Prussia poked Denmark with the fake beer. "You're a little crabby."

"Whose fault is that? Come on, let's act touristy. Get over here, Romano."

This part took almost an hour, because they had to keep changing clothes. Every time he changed, Romano managed to keep Prussia from seeing his underwear.

The director brought out a pair of folding bicycles to be used as props, but there was only enough room in the shot for one. Denmark took it and posed quite effectively with it, sitting astride, or pushing it along; they even took some pictures of him in the act of folding it up for easier transport. When they took a break, he unfolded it and rode it around his living room a little, stopping by the buffet table for a pastry and a fresh coffee.

Midway through, Prussia (now in shorts, sandals, a Hawaiian shirt, and a straw hat) exchanged his resin beer prop for a fancy rolling suitcase. "Hey, what about the albino bird?" he remembered.

"That's next," the director told him. "I need a few more photos of this shot – it's going to be in front of the Messecenter –"

"Hey, we were there last year!" Prussia interrupted, throwing his hat in the air.

"– and then we can get to the zoo scenes."

Romano, now in black shorts and a black t-shirt with a hardcore angel design stenciled on it, stomped over and grabbed Prussia, pinning his arms to his sides. "Will you please shut up, bastard?" he hissed into his friend's ear. "You're distracting everybody!"

"Kesesese, yes, all right. Will you keep hugging me?"

"No, dammit." Romano went back to his position in front of the screen.

Every now and then they caught the director staring at them with that strange expression. It was beginning to unnerve all of them a little.

…

The zoo shots were fun. These were done in front of the green screen as well, but they got to play with the little lorikeets, which were adorable. The albino would not leave Prussia, choosing to sit on his finger and sip sugared liquid out of a little cup he held in his other hand. The rainbow bird was passed between Den and Romano alternately, and was equally cute, though Prussia would not admit that.

Denmark tried to get the bird to drink some coffee, but it refused, so he drank the coffee instead. At this, both Romano and Prussia got little funny looks on their faces and smirked at each other. They might need to start keeping Den in line, if he began to get funny about coffee.

…

After the zoo scene, it was time to model on a fake beach. A plastic tarp had been spread on the floor and strewn with sand, heaped artistically into small piles. Prussia was dressed in black swim trunks, dark goggles perched on his forehead. He and Den posed opposite each other as if they were mid-volleyball game. Denmark had on red-and-white trunks and had had his makeup touched up before the new shooting began. Romano was not needed for this part, so he sat off to the side in red swim trunks, just in case they wanted to put him into a scene later. The green screen had been exchanged for a large backdrop printed with the scene of a Danish beach.

Unfortunately, instead of merely posing, Prussia kept actively trying to play volleyball, and either ended up knocking over the lights, careening into the camera, or hitting someone with the volleyball. One camera was already out of commission. "Prussia! Get your ass in gear, and focus. I'm sick of all your maniac bullshit!"

"Don't worry about it, Den! I know you're sauced on coffee, kesesese, so I won't get upset with you for yelling at me. But listen, I am having _so much fun._ I love having my picture taken, and it's _so awesome_ to know it will be used in an ad campaign! West is going to be so jealous. Hey, _Romano!"_ he yelled, even though Romano was only about twelve feet away. "You should be up here too! You always look so good at the beach! You could give me another awesome sunscreen backrub!" Prussia jumped up and down in his excitement.

Everyone in the room turned to appraise Romano, who turned red and covered his face with his hand. "Just – shut up, albino potato, and do what Den needs you to do!"

So Prussia tried to focus while they finished the beach pictures.

"Whoops! Sorry!" he yelled, after slipping on the sand-covered tarp and falling into the arms of a nearby cameraman. "Kesesese. I really am sorry."

The cameraman just looked up at him with adoring eyes.

…

Somehow over the next hour the director managed to get all the remaining shots he'd planned on (despite the setbacks introduced by Prussia, and Den's increasingly-irritated responses). The man's disturbing stare continued to freak Romano out, and he was almost beginning to wonder whether this photo shoot had been such a good idea. But Denmark knew the guy, and Den did this every year, so – it was probably all right.

…

At the end of the day they changed back into their own clothing. Each of them was allowed to keep one thing from the shoot.

Romano kept the white linen suit. If he looked that good in it, he planned to get some good mileage out of it. He'd take it on their vacation this summer. Yes, if he were going to do that, then he'd definitely ask England to join them on the vacation. He snickered a little. He could get a _lot_ of mileage out of this suit.

Denmark kept the folding bike. It was the latest model, much better than his old bike. He brought it to the center of the room and spent some time caressing it, thinking about all the bike jaunts he'd make this summer. Hell, he might even take it on the American summer vacation! It folded up so nicely and was so lightweight. While they waited for Prussia to make up his mind, he absently did some arm curls with the folded bike.

Prussia was torn. He really liked the albino lorikeet, but it had to go back to the zoo. It was a nice little bird and hadn't tried anything funny with him. Perhaps it sensed a kindred albino spirit? But he also knew West would kill him, if he brought home a pet of any kind. It was bad enough how much he argued with his brother about Gilbird. Plus, Gilbird might get jealous. So eventually he was waffling between the shuffleboard tang and the suitcase. In the end, he chose the suitcase, so he could use it on their summer vacation. The suitcase West had given him was like a hundred years old and really shabby. So not awesome. This one had _wheels!_

"At least it will be easier to carry than the fucking shuffleboard thing," Romano pointed out.

"I know. It will always remind me of Den and you and this awesome day we've had together. You know I love you."

Romano hugged him wordlessly. "So we're done now?" he asked Den. Most of the crew had left the room; all the remaining props and equipment were outside being loaded on the truck, except the tang, because Prussia had still been considering taking it home. Of all the photo crew, only the director remained, still staring at them.

That man now cleared his throat. "Ahem. Well, I have been looking at the three of you all day and thinking about something. I'm sure you all know how extraordinarily good-looking you are."

All three of them blushed. Denmark, still holding the folded bicycle, looked off to the side of the room. Romano covered his face with his hand. And Prussia broke into a maniacal grin, crimson eyes flashing. "Kesesese. _We_ _know_." He put an arm around each of his friends and hugged them close.

"I was wondering whether the three of you might like to appear together in a – ahem – a _private_ photo shoot for me?"

A hushed silence fell in the room.

 _"What?"_ Denmark began. He dropped the bike.

 _"Chigi!"_

"Are you talking about what I think you're talking about?" Prussia demanded. "Not awesome _at all._ " He picked up the shuffleboard tang and started smacking the director on the ass. The man ran out of the house, screaming, Prussia in hot pursuit.

…

 _Prussia must have been the last nation in the world to own a rolling suitcase._


	69. Seattle Meeting, Chapter 1

**Seattle Meeting, Chapter 1.**

"Wah! I'm so excited, kesesese. I never get vacations."

"You idiot. You never _do_ anything. Your entire _life_ is a fucking vacation."

"Hey, it's no fun if you don't have any money to spend, you know. West is a complete tightwad. The best I can do is go with him when he goes somewhere, which usually means your brother's house. Which is not bad! Don't get me wrong!" Prussia hurriedly said, in case Romano took offense. "But you have to admit it gets a little boring, with them sitting around being sweeties all the time. I'm glad you're not like that, Den."

"I don't even want to know," Romano grumbled, and Denmark ruffled his hair.

"So where are we going? Is Arthur joining us?"

"Uh, well, not this first weekend. He's got too much government shit to deal with; for some reason they're making him work over the weekend, the bastards. But he'll be here Monday for the meeting and then he's staying over next weekend with us."

"Cool. I mean, not that he has to work, but, you know what I mean."

"Why don't we just walk around?" Denmark suggested. "America won't be here until the meeting on Monday, so we can't ask him about anything yet. Let's just see if we can find something fun to do. At least it's a beautiful sunny day."

Romano hesitated. "Uh."

"What now?"

He turned a little red. "England's been to Seattle a lot. He said it can start raining anytime, even if it looked perfectly sunny five minutes ago."

"Ha ha, I bet he likes that."

"Cheh. Yes. Reminds him of home. But we should be prepared to get rained on, I bet."

The three friends geared up, with Denmark carrying a little folding umbrella in his pocket, and headed out to wander the streets of Seattle.

…

"Coffee?" Den suggested.

"Sure, I could use a good cup of espresso."

"Seattle's famous for that," Prussia pointed out. The other two looked at him. "Well, it is! I did some vacation research on the computer when West was at work last week."

"Good for you. What else?"

"Well, wait, let's not forget about the coffee. I want to see what spoons they have."

"Fine, bastard. Let's go get coffee and stupid _spoons_."

Prussia flew into a snit when he realized America's coffee shops weren't having the spoon promotion. "That is totally cheap! I flew all the way to Seattle and can't get a spoon. I'm going to give him a piece of my mind."

"Do you have a piece to spare?"

"Shut up, Romano."

"At least the coffee is good." Denmark licked a bit of crema off his lips. "Maybe we should make this our regular stop this week."

"Fine with me. As long as I can get espresso instead of weak drip coffee I'm fine, bastards."

Prussia got a coffee and proceeded to ignore it as they walked on. "Hey! What's that?" he asked, pointing to a structure.

"Space Needle," Romano told him. "Didn't you see that during your research?"

Prussia blushed and Denmark poked him. "Some researcher you are. Remind me not to rely on you when we decide on the summer trip."

"Yes, yes." He finally seemed to remember he was carrying a cup of coffee and drank it all down hastily, throwing the cup away when he was done. "Want to go up, see the awesome views?"

"I don't mind. Anybody scared of heights?"

"Not me, bastard. Let's go up."

By the time they'd ridden the elevator to the top of the Space Needle, the beautiful sunny day had changed to overcast. By the time they'd fought their way through the crowds to the observation deck, the overcast had changed to rain and the deck was nearly empty. "Damn it." Denmark pulled the folding umbrella out of his pocket and the three of them tried to huddle under it. This was not very successful. It was barely big enough to keep Denmark dry.

"I did warn you," Romano smirked. He pulled up the hood of his coat. "Do you want to stay here until it stops?"

Prussia peered over the edge. "Is it likely to stop soon?"

"How would I know, dammit? I'm no Seattle weather expert!"

A woman standing nearby offered her opinion that it would continue to rain all day, and possibly even through tomorrow as well. Prussia stamped his foot, but Romano thanked her nicely for the information.

"Well, we might as well go back down, then. Can't see anything but rain up here."

At the base of the Space Needle they debated returning to the hotel or continuing to wander in the rain. "I don't mind the rain so much. It's not awesome, but I can deal with it," Prussia decided.

Den agreed. "Well, I've got the umbrella, so I'm all right with it. Maybe we can find a museum or something fun indoors?"

"Cheh, whatever. My hood will keep me dry."

They hadn't gone very far when they spotted a sign for the Pacific Science Center. Den pointed to it. "Want to check it out?"

The albino sighed. "I don't know much about science. Now if it was a _military_ museum—"

There was a brief scuffle. Romano's hood got pulled off and Prussia took a sharp elbow to the ribs.

Denmark had stayed off to the side, under his umbrella, laughing at them. "You two are so much fun to hang out with. Now knock it the fuck off and let's go into the museum." His friends nodded at each other and walked inside.

"Whoa! This _is_ awesome!" Prussia gaped at all the interactive displays. Even on the entrance level, which was fairly small, there were a lot of interesting things to look at. Unfortunately, there were also an awful lot of school-age children underfoot.

"This is a kids' museum?" Romano asked in disbelief.

"We might as well go through it, since we already paid to get in."

"Come on, albino potato, let's go look," he sighed, but Prussia had taken off and was hanging from the rope on the fulcrum device.

"Check me out, I can lift it at even the hardest level! Kesesese!"

"Idiot. It's a _kids' exhibit_. Of course you're going to be able to do it; you're a grown man!"

"Though you don't always act like it," Denmark pointed out. Before Prussia could either pout or start a fight, he grabbed him by the arm. "Come on, let's go upstairs and leave this level for the little kids."

"All right, Den, you…"

"Party pooper," they all chorused.

Prussia sighed. "I'm getting predictable, aren't I?"

" _Getting_ predictable, bastard?"

This would have led to another scuffle, except that they'd just come out onto the main level, which was teeming with children, parents and teachers. Prussia's attention was completely diverted. "Look! _Robots!_ " He ran to the robot display, jumping up and down as a little blond kid tried to make the robot play tic-tac-toe. "I want West to buy me an awesome robot."

"Robots," Romano snorted. "I don't know why anybody's interested in them. That thing just looks creepy."

"You're kidding!" Denmark looked at it, and then looked back at Romano. "You think that's creepy? It just looks like a little crane, or a cherry-picker. What's creepy about it?"

"Chigi! Like it has a brain of its own? Creepy!"

"You're such a chicken," Prussia said, not taking his eyes off the robot. When the blond kid lost, he stormed off in anger, and Prussia immediately swooped in and began controlling the robot in an awesome game of tic-tac-toe.

Prussia also lost, much to the amusement of his friends. "Ha ha, you can't even beat a dumb robot."

"Shut up, Den. It's _artificial intelligence._ That means it's programmed to be intelligent!"

"You have to admit, it wouldn't take much to beat the albino potato at tic-tac-toe." Romano idly began walking away, Denmark following.

When they turned back to look at Prussia, he was standing in place, fists at his sides, fuming. "I hate you guys," he muttered. Denmark grinned at him, walked back, and gave him a hug, and his face changed to a sunny smile. "Aw, Den. I don't hate you." They walked over to Romano. "You, on the other hand…"

"Fuck off." Romano had the good sense to keep his voice low. But when Prussia put an arm around him, he allowed it. The three friends moved towards the Body Works exhibit and spent nearly an hour tinkering with all the displays, testing their strength, reflexes, and cardio.

At the other end of the hall they spotted the museum store, and wandered in there. "Hmm," Prussia wondered. "Should I get a souvenir today, or save my money and get one at the end of the trip?"

"You still have your spoon money, right? Which you won't be able to spend on spoons. So you could spend it on a souvenir today and still have money for one at the end of the week." Romano thought this was an entirely reasonable suggestion, but –

"No! So not awesome, Romano, because if I spend the spoon money, then when I get home I won't be able to get any more spoons. I only need three more to have the complete collection; it would suck if I couldn't get them all just because I was craving a science souvenir. No, I'll save my money and get one at the end of the week."

"But not here. You'd have to pay another entrance fee to get in, and that would eat up some of your souvenir money." Denmark looked around at the souvenirs as he spoke.

"Uh! I hadn't even thought of that. Yes, then I should probably get something while I'm here. I can get more spoon money from West, I bet."

Den and Romano wandered the store idly, keeping an ear on Prussia's very serious analysis of the items for sale. Much of it he dismissed as too childish (the books and some of the toys), but they had a very cool neon-green hoodie that he liked, with a robot on it. It was a little more than the cost of one spoon, though.

"I really don't know," he mused. "It's an awesome hoodie! And neon green is so right for me."

"How do you figure?" Denmark started laughing. "I thought all colors were so right for you?"

"They _are!_ Stop laughing. You too, Romano. But look! Look how good neon green looks on me." He took off his coat and put the hoodie on over his shirt. "Seriously. Look."

His friends looked. "You look like a nuclear accident victim, bastard."

Prussia growled. "I wish we weren't standing in a room full of little kids. When we get out of here, I'm going to beat you to a pulp."

"No, you won't," Romano smirked. "You'll get blood all over the hoodie. Besides, you know you love me."

"Romano!" Prussia's eyes widened; he picked the brunet up and spun him around. "I _do!_ I _do_ love you!" he yelled.

Denmark was leaning against the wall, laughing, but most of the parents had started dragging their children out of reach. "Chigi! Put me down! Put me down, you insane albino!"

"Kesesese! You just made my day, my Italian friend. I don't need a neon green hoodie or anything else. You've just given me the best memory of this whole vacation." He let go of Romano, who scooted backward until he reached the wall, and then Prussia took off the hoodie and hung it back up.

"Crazy bastard. This vacation's barely started. How can you say that's the best memory?" Romano raked a hand through his hair, and then fixed it.

"You'll see. When the three of us are together – and even if my awesome friend Arthur is with us – I would place a bet that there won't be anything better than that."

"You're on," Denmark said immediately. "What are we betting?"

They walked out of the store and back to the exhibits while thinking. "How the hell are we even going to make this bet? I mean, how can we prove that one memory is better than another?"

"Okay, here," Prussia decided. "I have to be the final person to make the decision. Since I was the one who said it was the best. So, if, _if,_ at any point I decide that some future memory is going to be better than that, well, that means you guys have most awesomely raised the bar for good memories, and that means you have won. If, on the other hand, we finish this vacation and I still think this was the best memory, then I win."

"Yeah, so – then what, albino potato? You want me and Den to spend all week exerting ourselves to make good memories for you?"

"Kesesese. I don't see why not."

"I'm up for a challenge like that, Romano; are you?"

Romano considered. "Possibly. Depends on the terms of the bet. What do we win if we make you say a future memory is better?"

"Hmm. How about whoever loses the bet has to do all the research for the summer trip?"

Prussia laughed crazily. "I don't mind that at all, because I am going to win!"

"Cheh. You've said that before, bastard, and lost."

"But this time I won't, kesesese."

"Will you take that bet, Romano?"

"Let me think a minute. As it stands now, you and I are currently losing. And that means we'd have to do all the research? But if we come up with a better memory for Crazy Boy, then he has to do all the research."

"Right." Denmark nodded.

"Stop calling me crazy."

"Fine. Insane boy."

"Romano—"

"Shut up, you two, until we get the bet figured out. What do you think, Romano?"

"Uh. I don't want to do all that research, but I also don't trust him to do the research!"

"Fine, let's come up with some other bet." Denmark absently fiddled with his umbrella while he thought. "Oh! Here's a good one. You know the Space Needle has a restaurant on top. Loser, or losers, buy dinner at the Space Needle on our last night here?"

"Well, I could deal with that, but potato brain won't have the cash, if he's spending it all on souvenirs."

"I won't spend it all on souvenirs! I'm not going to lose the bet, anyway," Prussia cackled. "You'd have to come up with some pretty serious stuff to impress me more than that."

Den and Romano both rolled their eyes. "But would you take that bet?"

Prussia thought about it, bouncing up and down a little. "Yeah, all right. I'll take that bet, but I won't buy Arthur's dinner if I lose, since he's not part of the bet. Deal?"

"Deal." They shook on it.

 _..._

 _"Crema" is the term for the foam that forms on the top of espresso._


	70. Seattle Meeting, Chapter 2

**Seattle Meeting, Chapter 2.**

"Arthur! My so awesome friend!"

"Hello, Lucy. How is it possible in any sane world that I have to hug you before I can hug my own boyfriend? Get off." England pushed the albino aside.

Romano backed off. "Don't hug me, bastard, we're in a meeting room!"

"Bollocks! Have you all ganged up on me? I had a miserable red-eye flight, and I had to get off the plane and run right into this bloody meeting, and everybody's getting on my nerves already!" The blond growled and headed towards the conference table to find a seat.

"Hey, Iggy!" America yelled. "Nice to see you!"

"Great," the island nation muttered. "Another one."

America came over and gave him a little pat on the shoulder. "I got special teabags for you, since I knew you'd be late getting here."

England looked up in amazement. "You did? Thank you. At least _you're_ being nice to me."

"Kesesese, I gave you an awesome hug, I don't know what more you expect from me."

"Just shut it, git. Everybody leave me alone."

America blinked. "What about the teabags?"

"Yes, fine, all right, bring me the bloody teabags!"

"Sheesh. If you're going to be like that, forget it." The host pouted and walked back to the head of the table.

England sank down into a seat and put his head in his arms. "Where's Denmark? Maybe he'll be nice to me."

"I guess he's still snoozing. We drank a lot last night."

"Figures." He levered himself off the table and headed towards the side table, which held an assortment of sticky American breakfast pastries and urns for coffee and hot water. When he came back to the table with a cup of tea, Denmark was sitting in his seat with a coffee-shop carry-out tray in front of him. "This day isn't going to get any better, is it?"

"Shut up, bastard, and come over here, I saved you a seat next to me." Romano frowned and patted the empty seat next to him.

England gave him a sweet smile and came to sit. "Thanks. Sorry."

"Drink your fucking tea." Romano reached for a cup on the carry-out tray.

"What's this? Gourmet coffee? Wankers."

"Hey, I didn't know what kind you liked. Tell me and I'll get some tomorrow for you."

"No thanks, I'll stick with my _fucking tea._ " He scowled at Romano.

Prussia and Denmark were seated directly opposite them. While they drank, the four friends watched other nations trickle in through the door. Austria walked in stiffly with a red face and made his way to the top of the table, right near America. "That's odd," Prussia noticed. "Austria doesn't usually like to put himself forward that way."

This mystery was somewhat solved when America peeked around the room and then gave Austria a little peck on the cheek, turning red himself. "What?" England yelled, but Romano slapped his hand over the blond's mouth.

"Shut up! I want to listen."

Eight ears craned towards the top of the table, but other nations were coming in, so they didn't hear anything useful. "That's fucking bizarre," Denmark admitted.

"Not as bizarre as that." Prussia used his chin to point towards the front door, where Norway and Russia were walking along together, not quite hand-in-hand but not far off from it.

"Norge?" Denmark stage-whispered. "Has he lost his fucking _mind?_ "

"Shh!" the others chorused, watching.

By now all four of them were actively looking around the room, checking for other bizarre couples. Romano nudged England and looked towards the back of the room; Denmark picked up on this and poked Prussia. They all looked. "So what?" Prussia asked. "It's just Swissy and Liechtenstein."

"Git! Liechtenstein is with Iceland!"

Prussia looked again. "Nah. That's just how they happen to be sitting." He looked away.

"I think England's right," Den said in a quiet tone. "Look at Ice. He's _flirting_ with her! She's flirting with _him!_ Oh, man, Swissy's gonna kill him."

They all watched, fascinated, before remembering it was rude to stare. "Bastards…you know…all these people were at the New Year's party! Did we miss out on all this because of your stupid brother?" Romano tried to kick Prussia under the table, but got Den instead.

"Ow."

"Sorry."

"I don't know," the albino admitted. "By the time I'd worked up my nerve to go home, West and Veneziano were the only ones in the house."

"This is too weird, dammit. I definitely want to keep my eyes on this situation."

"You're getting as bad as Hungary and Japan!" Prussia laughed.

"Speaking of…"

They watched Hungary and Japan enter arm-in-arm. He seemed to be explaining the features of a small camera to her, and she was grinning from ear to ear.

"Well, that's nothing awesome. It's not even anything new."

"Who else was at the party, gits? Who else do we need to look for?" England's voice was an alarmed hiss.

"Sweden and Finland, but that's nothing new either."

"Poland and Lithuania, ditto."

"Though Lithuania did tell me Poland was acting kind of funny," Romano remembered. "What if they broke up? Maybe they'd come with someone different to the meeting?"

"They won't break up," the other three laughed. And in fact less than a minute later, the two nations in question came into the room, Poland tripping along lightly with leopard-print high heels and pink lipstick accessorizing his standard uniform, Lithuania smiling softly at his friend.

"Cheh, fine, all right."

"The meeting's about to start!" America hollered. "Get your breakfast and sit down, people! We have a lot to accomplish today."

England groaned one more time and sank his head back onto the table.

…

After lunch, America reconvened the meeting. "Now, per our agenda of today, which I'd just like to point out I've heroically been _very closely adhering to_ – _" (_ a chorus of snorts and snickers filled the room, but America didn't seem to notice) "– we're planning to launch a worldwide –"

"Ve, it's _snowing!_ " Veneziano stood up and pointed out the window. Greece, Romano, Spain and Turkey all stood up, too, with excitement on their faces, since they didn't typically get much snow.

"Yes, the forecast is for snow," America admitted. "I, uh…I didn't check the whole weather report this morning, so I don't know how bad it will get, but…Seattle doesn't do well with snow."

"What does that actually mean, _mon cher_?" France asked him.

"When – when it snows around here, it doesn't snow very hard, but there are lots of power outages from wind, and people freak out. They try to drive and fail, or they stay in and panic when they start running out of groceries. Stores and schools and businesses shut down at the drop of a hat, pretty much as soon as the snow starts falling." By this point everyone, even the Mediterranean nations, was staring at America as if stunned, but he didn't seem to realize there was an issue. "So anyway, about this global initiative…"

He continued to speak for about five full minutes while every nation in the room started surreptitiously discussing weather contingency plans. "But if we get snowed in –!" Liechtenstein said.

" _We_ won't get snowed in," Switzerland assured her. "We can deal with snow."

"But if all the local people are ill-equipped to deal with the snow, _Bruder_ , then perhaps there will be trouble on the streets?" She turned a troubled face to him, but then smiled and looked away – exactly as if someone had squeezed her hand under the table. She flickered a tiny smile towards Iceland, without letting Switzerland see.

"America," Canada asked from his end of the table, "is the hotel equipped to deal with power outages and so forth?"

"Aw, there's – there's nothing to worry about," America replied, with a completely panicked expression on his face. Austria put a hand over America's supportively.

Prussia boggled. "I just can't believe Austria would put up with him."

"Me neither," England admitted. "If it did start at our party, I'm surprised it went on this long."

The meeting had completely degenerated as everyone talked about the possibility of a snowstorm. Veneziano had dragged Germany to the window and they were staring out at the snowflakes; Greece and Turkey started fighting for the last space in front of the window. Norway, on the other hand, had cuddled close to Russia, who'd taken off his scarf and wrapped it around the other nation's neck. "Gah!" Prussia yelled, jumping out of his chair. "I can't take this anymore!"

The only people who paid attention to him were England and Romano. Denmark couldn't take his eyes off Norway. "Shut it, git. Sit down."

"No." Prussia sat down. "No, listen. Den, hey, listen."

Denmark reluctantly pulled his gaze from Norway. "What?"

"Well, we seriously need to come up with some kind of a plan in case we get snowed in. I mean, this hotel is pretty bad for socializing. One bar, one restaurant. No arcade, no nothing. We don't have any video games. _What are we going to do?_ " he wailed.

Germany turned from the window. "Prussia, behave yourself."

"Shut up, West; go back to your snow-gazing." He turned back to his friends. "I'm serious."

"Don't be an idiot," Romano told him. "You can't get snowed in from places you'd walk to. You can only get snowed in from driving. Right?"

"Yeah, but if all the shops are closed, we won't even be able to get our good coffee," Denmark moaned. He scrubbed his hands through his hair, making it stand up even more than usual.

"But at least we'll be able to get outside. Walk around. We won't be cooped up in here."

Prussia jumped out of his chair again, tearing at his white hair. "Unless it snows high enough to block the doors! Aah!"

"Shut up, panicky bastard."

England knew this would probably not be a problem. "Oi, America! What's the average annual snowfall for Seattle?"

"Five point nine inches annually, averaged over the last ten years," the host nation promptly responded, momentarily diverted from a crisis meeting with Austria.

"Calm down, then, albino potato. Even if they break the record, it's not going to be high enough to block the door."

"I think we should cancel the meeting." Prussia said this in his normal tone of voice, but it seemed that everyone in the room had heard him.

"Ve, I agree! I want to go play in the snow!"

Germany turned again. "Italy, there's not even any snow lying on the ground yet! There's no snow to play _in!_ And in any case I'm not certain you brought the proper snow gear with you."

"That bastard is such a killjoy."

"I agree with Prussia," Hungary stood up to say. "The meeting should be cancelled, at least for today."

"What? Why?" America had that panicked look again.

"Ha. The wanker knows that if the meeting gets off track, he's in big trouble." England stood up. "America! I agree with Gilbert."

"You're pretty malicious." Denmark stood up. "I agree with Prussia," he called out over the general hubbub.

The three of them looked at Romano. "Chigi! I can't even get that sentence into my head, let alone make it come out of my mouth. I just can't do it."

"Too bad, because that would be an awesome memory _…_ "

Romano frowned, then he scowled, and then he very quickly stood up and yelled "I-agree-with-the-albino-potato" and sat back down.

"Kesesese! It was pretty awesome, but…not awesome enough, I'm afraid."

"Dammit."

The island nation frowned at them. "What the hell's all that about, gits?"

"Tell you later," his boyfriend muttered.

By this point the entire meeting was in chaos. Den began to smile. "I bet we could just leave and it wouldn't make a difference."

"Yeah. Let's get out of here."

The four of them slipped out of the meeting room and headed for the lone hotel bar to make snow contingency plans.


	71. Seattle Meeting, Chapter 3

**Seattle Meeting, Chapter 3.**

"Just throw him on the bed." Romano turned on the lights so his friends could manhandle the drunken England into the room. They obediently dumped him onto the bed, where he began to snore.

"How does he manage to get so drunk, so fast?" Denmark wondered. "We were only there for two hours!"

"Beats me. You bastards going back down?"

"Sure. Want to come with us?"

Romano considered his comatose boyfriend for a moment. "Cheh, sure. Nothing's going to be happening here. Let's go."

…

England woke up the next morning, chipper and cheerful. "Hey, git, what are you doing in that bed? Why aren't you over here with me? Get up! It's a sunny day, look!" He bounced over to the window and opened the curtains. "And it snowed a _lot_! Bloody hell. Hey, wait, why am I still dressed? Oh, I probably passed out, didn't I?" He beamed at Romano. "Thanks for bringing me back up."

"Ohhhhhh…" Romano moaned, pulling the pillow over his head.

"What's the matter with you?" England came back and sat next to him on the bed, poking him.

"Knock it the fuck off. Ow."

"Seriously, Romano, what's wrong? Are you sick?"

"Are you some kind of idiot? I have a hangover! Ohhh…"

"That's rare. How late were we down there? I admit I don't remember much, but I feel great! I wonder why I'm not hung over?" He hopped off the bed and started getting dressed for the meeting.

"Bastard. You passed out at five o'clock. The rest of us kept drinking until midnight."

" _Oh._ Well, that explains that. Want some aspirin? Coffee?"

"Argh…yeah, both." Romano finally crawled out from under the pillow. "Dammit."

"What'd I miss?"

"Well, dinner. We went out after dumping you up here. Figured we might as well get out and do something before the snow hit. Then we came back to the hotel bar and started—oh, _dammit,_ " he moaned weakly.

"Dammit what? What did you do, come on, tell me." England brought him the aspirin and a cup of instant coffee made with the warm tap water from the bathroom.

Romano took it without complaining: a sure sign that he was too far gone to notice. "I…uh…I think maybe I sang karaoke with the albino potato?"

"You what?" England had to sit down again, he was so flummoxed. "You – sang – karaoke – with Gilbert? _You?_ "

"I. Uh. No, now I remember. We didn't. The hotel doesn't have karaoke."

"Thank God. If you're ever going to sing karaoke – with or without Gilbert – I'm hiring a portable recording studio and a film crew."

"Bastard."

England hugged him. "Come on. Get up. Or do you want to stay in bed all day? I'm sure I can make some excuse to America, although knowing him, he'll be quite sophomoric about it and assume we were up having sex all night."

"Chigi! I'll get up." Romano levered himself out of the bed, swaying. "Dammit. I'm going to take a shower. That sometimes helps."

"Want company?"

"Bastard, you're already dressed!"

"Git. If I have a choice between going to a stupid meeting fully-dressed or undressing again and taking a shower with you, which do _you_ think I'm going to choose?"

"Cheh. Come on in the bathroom, then."

…

When they got to the meeting room there was nobody there except Prussia. "What the hell's going on?" England wondered. "Was _everybody_ that drunk?"

Prussia had his head on the table. "I hate West. I hate America. I hate everyone."

"That's right, albino potato. You know you hate me."

"Eh."

"Wow, you must be really hung over, Gilbert."

"Eh."

"Where's Denmark, bastard?"

"Went out for the fancy coffee."

England and Romano looked around and noticed the breakfast buffet was not laid. "What happened to breakfast?"

"How the hell should I know?" Prussia moaned. "I hate everybody. I hate breakfast and I hate America."

"Don't we all," England agreed.

Denmark breezed in, carrying the coffee take-out tray. "Hey, hi. I got you tea, since America slacked on breakfast."

"Thank you! Er – do you know where everybody else is?"

"Yep. They're having a snowball fight in the parking lot."

"Let's go out! I have a strong urge to pelt the potato bastard with a snowball or ten."

"Fine with me, wanker."

"Sure. Coming, Prussia?"

"Yes. I'm going to hit America with a snowball. I want my breakfast!"

…

Denmark was in high spirits during this snowball fight. As usual, he hadn't been very hung over, despite the massive amounts of liquor he'd drunk. He laughed and laughed and kept trying to hit Russia with snowballs, but Russia defended himself (and his snowball-making assistant Norway) easily.

"Hey, Den," Prussia moaned, crouched behind a snow fort wall built adjacent to the hotel dumpster.

"What?" He let fly another one and clocked Russia right in the head, but Russia just laughed and retaliated.

"Hit West with a snowball."

"You do it! You're the one who's pissed off at him."

"I can't move. My head hurts."

Denmark crouched down next to him. "Why are you so mad at him anyway? I thought you were mad at America, about breakfast?"

"I was! I am! I'm just mad at West because – because – well, he's so handy to get mad at. There's always something he's doing that pisses me off."

Denmark peeked over the rampart. "Not at the moment. I think Romano just hit him in the chops with a snowball."

"Good."

They heard some crazy laughter that sounded like Romano's. "That would have been a good memory, if you'd seen it," Den pointed out.

"Eh, forget it. I'm going back in. I'm going to sleep in the meeting room."

"Are you sick? You must be sick."

"Just hung over. Hit America with a snowball for me."

"Will do." As Prussia sloped off, Denmark packed a snowball with chunks of ice and prepared to launch an offensive.

…

"Dammit, that was fun. I wish he hadn't gone off with my idiot brother; I would have kept hitting him."

England scoffed. "I think you just got lucky that one time."

"Spoilsport."

"Come on; let's go back to the meeting room, git. Hey, Den! Coming up?"

"Sure." Denmark was dripping wet, having taken quite a few snowballs from frolicking nations. About the only person who hadn't thrown one at him was Iceland. "I might need to get changed first."

"Where's the albino potato?"

"He was still pretty hung over, and very mad at America for not serving breakfast. He went to take a nap in the meeting room."

"Well, I'm still pretty dry," England pointed out. "I'm just going to go to the meeting."

"Yeah, me too. We'll meet you there, bastard?"

"Fine, see you in a little bit."

…

Prussia was sitting alertly at the meeting table with several plates full of crumbs and other breakfast detritus in front of him.

"What the hell? What have you been doing?" Romano demanded.

"They delivered breakfast while you were outside. I ate as much as I could. I feel _great!"_ He got up to get himself some American coffee, doing a little dance in place while it poured into his mug.

"Good for you, git. Did you leave anything for us?"

"Kesesese, not much. Better grab it before everybody else starts coming back."

Romano hustled to the buffet. "Hey, make a plate for Den, potato pig." Prussia made snorting noises, but went to the buffet and did as directed, dancing and laughing the whole time.

Denmark slipped into the room just a few minutes later, in dry clothing, but with his spiky hair all wet. "Hey, breakfast!"

"I made you a plate, dearest," Prussia crooned, shooting the plate across the table.

"Only because I told you to, bastard."

"Whatever! I'm just happy to eat; I'm starving. I guess my good coffee's cold by now, huh?" Den picked up the cup.

Prussia laughed. "Ah – well, actually, no, my friend, because I drank it. It was awesome."

Denmark shrugged. "At least somebody enjoyed it. Thanks for the breakfast."

"It's a good thing I put it together for you," Prussia boasted; "there really isn't much left. By the time everybody else gets here, there won't be anything but sticky pastry."

"Hurry up before everybody comes in and starts giving us shit about eating all the food." Romano poked Denmark, who just kept eating.

England took care of removing the dirty plates and cutlery. "Did anybody check the weather? Are we likely to get snowed in?"

"It's not snowing now, you know. In fact the whole time we were outside – even when I went for the coffee – it wasn't snowing. Maybe it's all done."

"That would be, well, yes, it would be awesome." Prussia put his head in his hands and sighed. "I really was not looking forward to enforced hotel entertainment."

England snickered. "I heard you and Romano were going to sing karaoke last night."

"Yes, damn it, but the hotel didn't have it! I was so mad. We'd make such beautiful music together, you know," he said to Romano.

A weak "Chigi" was the only response to this.

The other nations began filtering in. "Shit. Let's act like we're having an important discussion so nobody starts bitching about the food," Romano then hissed. They watched people flow up to the buffet table and start milling around in confusion. Then America swept into the room with a big grin.

"America! Where is all the breakfast?" Switzerland asked, pulling out a gun and idly aiming it at the host nation, who as usual was completely oblivious.

"Don't worry about it, man! It's 11:30, I told them just to go ahead and bring up lunch. It should be here in about five minutes."

"Dammit. It figures."

"Well, at least we had an awesome breakfast." Prussia burped.


	72. Seattle Meeting, Chapter 4

**Seattle Meeting, Chapter 4.**

"Thank all the gods that's over," Denmark moaned. "This may have been the most boring week of meetings I've ever been to. Let's go drink."

"Bastard. Let's go have dinner first."

"We need to talk about what we're going to do this weekend, too," Prussia decided. "Before we get drunk."

"I'm not getting drunk. I've been drinking too much this week. I might have _a_ drink, or a couple, but I'm not getting drunk."

"Romano, you –"

"But he's probably right," Den interrupted, ruffling Prussia's hair. "You haven't had such a good week of it, either, you know."

"Kesesese! You're really so good to me, Denmark, looking out for me this way."

"Shut up, both of you. Where's the mystic bastard?"

Den shrugged. "How should we know? You're the one holding the leash."

"Dammit, just shut up."

Just then England wandered out of the meeting room. "What are you gits doing standing around?"

They all stared at him. "Waiting for you, moron. Come on." Romano grabbed his arm and yanked him towards the door.

"Oh."

They decided to go out somewhere for dinner. No more snow had fallen, to the dismay of many, but the meetings had run late almost every night, which meant everyone had been too tired or too lazy to go out for dinner. Every night had been a meal in the hotel restaurant with all the other nations around, and everyone was getting sick of it.

"What about the Space Needle?" England suggested. "There's a restaurant up there."

"Oh, no, we're saving that for our last night here. Kesesese. I'm surprised Romano hasn't told you about that."

"Cheh, I just forgot, that's all. Come on, let's go find someplace."

…

In the restaurant they discussed weekend plans while they waited for the food to arrive.

"We didn't really have anything in particular to do, did we?" Denmark drank some beer.

So did Prussia. "There was that music museum we read about online. That could be fun. I know Arthur is very fond of rock and roll."

"'Very fond of rock and roll,'" Romano snorted. "You sound like somebody's grandmother."

"Aw, knock it off, Romano. Maybe they have a karaoke machine there and we can sing together!"

"Argh."

Den thought about this. "Well, that museum is right near the Space Needle, so maybe we could do that right before the dinner."

Romano fidgeted in his seat. "Well, I'm sure singing karaoke with the albino potato would be an…awesome memory…" His voice trailed off weakly. "Wouldn't it?" He gave Prussia an almost pathetic look.

Denmark laughed at him. "You're really getting desperate, aren't you? Don't worry; we'll come up with something so you don't have to sing karaoke with him, unless you want to. It'll be easier to find something if we're not in the damn meeting room all the time."

" _Thank you_ , Den," Romano replied fervently. "Thank you so much."

England, of course, scowled at them all. "I don't suppose any of you wankers are going to tell me what you're talking about?"

They all thought about this. "Nope, no point," Prussia concluded. "Don't worry about it. Just a little vacation bet."

"Oh. Yes, you're right; I'm going to forget it. Your bets are always a little weird."

"You could show him your underwear," Den suggested to Romano.

The albino beamed. "Yes!" Poke.

"No!" Swat.

Just then the food came. "Well…there is something I'd like to do," England said in a rather humble tone. He looked down at his plate. "Every time I come to Seattle I try to schedule it, and it never works out."

The other three looked at him curiously. It was rare for him to be so meek. "Well?" Romano poked him.

"There's a – a waterfront park, on Lake Washington, in a town with a lot of little shops and things; I've read that it's very scenic, and I – I just wanted to go there." He was still staring at his plate.

His friends looked at each other. "May we ask why?" Denmark used the tone of voice you might use to a troubled child. "Surely there are places like that in your country."

"Er."

"What's the name of this awesome place?"

"Er."

"Bastard, what the fuck? What's the matter with you?" Romano shook him violently. "Are you all right?"

"It's called Kirkland, all right!" he yelled, loud enough to gain the attention of everyone in the restaurant. Then he sank his red face into his hands and put his elbows on the table.

Denmark smiled at him, but Prussia started his mad cackling. "That _is_ awesome! Wish there was a town called Beilschmidt around here. Yes, I think we should go to the awesome Kirkland for my friend and maybe take a lot of pictures, too. What do you guys think?"

England still had his head in his hands. Romano leaned over and gave him a very brief hug with one arm. "Bastard, don't be stupid; of course we can go to Kirkland for you. Who knows, we might come up with some awesome memory while we're there." He sighed. "We don't seem to be having much luck with that in Seattle."

"Be fair, Romano, we've been stuck in meetings all week. So we're going to go to this Kirkland? Do we need to rent a car?" Den asked.

"Eh, it's not that far, we can take a cab, my treat," England offered. "Since it was my idea."

"Kesesese! I love cab rides!"

"And Germany never lets you ride in cabs. Right?" Denmark hugged him.

"That's so true, my awesome friend." Prussia hugged him back.

"Wait, wait. What about the weather, bastards? Is it going to snow again? Or rain? I don't see the point in wandering around a lakefront park in the rain."

"Good point! Hadn't thought of that. England, do you know?"

"The weather is supposed to be fine and clear all weekend." The island nation still wouldn't look up, but at least his conversational tone was sounding more normal, less embarrassed.

Denmark finished his meal and pushed the plate away. "Well, this is all good, then! We can go there tomorrow morning, and spend as long as we like, and then go off and do something else if it's a small place."

"We ought to figure out what we're going to do afterwards, dammit. In case it's a small place and bor—" Romano cut himself off and put a hand on England's shoulder. "In case it's a small place."

England finally lifted his head and looked at his friends. "It probably is boring. It's named Kirkland, after all." He managed a brave smile, and this time Romano did give him a real hug.

"Shut up, stupid. You're not boring. Finish eating. We can go back to the hotel and do some research about where to go after Kirkland."

"Thanks, gits." England finished his food.

…

 _Just for fun I looked up "Beilschmidt" on Bing Maps and found a street in Illinois, but no towns. Poor Gilbert._


	73. Seattle Meeting, Chapter 5

**Seattle Meeting, Chapter 5.**

"Boy, it's a good thing America was still in the hotel today! We went all week without asking him about places for the summer vacation." Prussia struggled into his coat as they went outside to catch a cab.

"I'm glad we decided on LA, bastards. I've always wondered about that place."

"Are you coming with us on this vacation, Arthur?"

"Ha. Do you think I'd pass it up? Los Angeles is bloody awesome, I have to admit, and I don't mind hanging out with you wankers since you're going to Kirkland with me." He blushed and flagged down a taxi.

Denmark sat in the front. England ended up wedged between his two friends in the back seat. "Quit crowding me, bastard." Romano shoved him over towards Prussia.

"Arthur! Stop leaning on me!"

England put his head on his knees and growled.

In a short amount of time they'd reached Marina Park in Kirkland and paid off the cab driver, who left. It was, indeed, a beautiful day, if cold.

"Wah! Look at the lake!" Prussia went running right up to the edge of the lake. "I wonder how cold it is."

"It's _February_ , you idiotic potato. It's freezing."

"Oh. Well, yeah." He reluctantly came back from the water's edge, but they stood admiring the view for a little while. Lots of people with kids and dogs were wandering around.

"I wonder how much these condos cost." Denmark looked around. "Probably a pretty penny."

"I wouldn't be surprised. Waterfront real estate is pretty high no matter where you look, unless it's in the middle of nowhere. You gits want to walk?"

"Cheh, yes, let's."

Over the course of the morning they visited lots of the little shops, took a lot of pictures, and wandered vaguely uphill on Central Way. Nothing too exciting happened until they happened to pass Wing Dome at lunchtime.

"Hey! I love chicken wings. Can we eat lunch here?"

"Den? How did I never know you liked wings? I don't mind, kesesese. How about you two?"

Romano and England didn't have a problem with this, either; the menu in the window had salads and other items.

After they had been seated, they looked around. In the corner, a beefy man at a table with some friends was covered in sauce and laughing, with tears running down his face. "What the fuck?"

The waitress heard Romano's outburst. Seeming not to take offense, she explained the restaurant's Seven Deadly Wings challenge. "Seven _very hot_ wings, seven minutes. No drinks, no dips, no napkins. Clean all seven wings down to the bone in seven minutes and the meal is free. You'll get a shirt, and we'll put your picture on the wall." She gestured towards the wall. "Take some time with the menus; let me know if you're interested in the challenge."

As she wandered off, Prussia began to get that gleam in his eye.

"No way, bastard. You're _not_. Look at that guy! He's crying! Like a fucking _baby!_ "

But Denmark looked like he was considering it, too.

Romano turned to England. "You – uh, dammit, you're not going to do this, too, are you?"

"Ha. Absolutely not. Though if one of them does, I might try testing a little of the sauce, just to see how 'deadly' these things are."

"I can handle it," Prussia decided. "Plus then I'll get the wings for free, and I'll have extra souvenir money!"

"Or extra money to pay for dinner tomorrow, if you lose the bet," Denmark laughed at him.

"I won't lose, I'm telling you."

"But won't it be an awesome memory, if you finish this wing challenge? Your picture will be on the wall! In Kirkland! Since Denmark picked this restaurant, that would mean he won the bet, potato brain. So you'd better finish this challenge and save the wing money for dinner tomorrow night." Romano leaned back in his chair, pleased with his logic.

"Whatever. I'm going to take the challenge. We'll see how awesome it really is. What if I – no, I can't even say it. It can't happen." Prussia picked up the menu but didn't really look at it.

"You mean 'what if you fail'?" England snorted. "I'm getting my camera out. I bet I have seven minutes' worth of memory left to make a video of you gits taking this challenge."

"Good idea, bastard."

The waitress came and took their orders, a salad and lemonade for Romano; sweetened iced tea and plain wings for England, since he'd need a hand to operate the camera. She smiled when both Denmark and Prussia accepted the challenge.

When the orders came out, everyone in the restaurant watched the two nations with interest. Romano spared a moment to drink some lemonade. England raised his iced tea glass in a toast to his friends and wished them luck, before he turned on the camera.

Wing one: "Pfft, this is nothing," Prussia said. "West and I eat hotter wings than this every day."

True to his intention, England tasted a bit of the sauce. Tears nearly fell, but he was strong. He raised his eyebrows and offered a saucy fingertip to Romano, who shook his head no, so he licked it off _._

Den plowed through his first wing without a problem. "Hey, Romano, time us. I don't want to have to shove down three wings in the last minute because I'm too busy socializing."

Romano looked at his watch. "Go for it, you still have more than six minutes left."

Wing two: "It'd be better if we could use napkins." This from Denmark, who was looking a little saucy around the mouth, but not seeming troubled by the heat of the wings. Several restaurant patrons were watching with interest now.

"At least your hair won't get covered in sauce, since it's sticking up so much." Romano calmly ate some more of his lunch; England was still manning the camera with one hand and eating his plain wings with the other.

Wing three: "Delish," Prussia said, although his face was getting a little red. Romano elbowed England, who laughed and drank some iced tea.

Wing four: "My gums and tongue are getting numb," Den laughed. "But the hotness is not a problem."

"'Cause you're so hot already," Prussia agreed, licking his fingers clean. He turned to look at Denmark. "Whoa! Your face is really red!"

"So is yours. Eat."

"How much time we got, Romano?" Prussia managed, with a mouthful of his fifth wing.

"You wankers should have made a bet about this one."

"One bet at a time," Denmark argued, smearing sauce off his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Three minutes left. Both you bastards are doing great. I'm surprised."

Many more diners were watching. Prussia's eyes were tearing up, and he managed to blot them discreetly with his sleeve, so he wouldn't get hot sauce in his eyes. Denmark started coughing, and Romano raised an eyebrow. "You all right? Dammit, you look really bad!"

Den nodded. "'M all right…just…so…numb…"

Prussia groped for his sixth chicken wing; apparently the tears were now obscuring his vision so much he couldn't see the plate. "Damn," he moaned. "Maybe I _am_ going to fail." He nibbled daintily and leaned against Denmark. "H-how're you doing, Den," he whimpered.

Denmark just grunted and reached for his sixth wing, eyes streaming. People were standing up at their tables, looking at the two nations, looking at the nearly-empty plates. The waitress and a few staff members came out and stood nearby.

"You're both looking pretty scary, bastards."

"Don't forget, you have to lick your fingers entirely clean," the waitress reminded them.

Prussia groaned. "My heart hurts." He had sauce all over his face and in his hair, somehow.

"Gilbert, if it's that difficult, just stop. Stop and have a drink. It's only seven dollars!" England pushed his iced tea towards the albino, but didn't stop filming.

Denmark looked at the last wing and broke down. "I quit." He grabbed Romano's lemonade and finished all the rest of it in one go. He picked up a napkin to wipe off his fingers and another one to dab at his eyes, taking deep, shuddering breaths, laying his head on the table.

Prussia had the seventh wing in his hand. He reached it up towards his mouth. And everyone later agreed that he might have completed the challenge, if Denmark hadn't then said, "Damn it, that lemonade was just what I needed to take the fire away. Cold and sweet. Thanks, Romano."

Prussia squinted at the empty lemonade glass, and then the nearly-full glass of iced tea in front of him. He reached the wing towards his mouth again, but then dropped it on the plate. "I quit," he moaned. Then he drank the iced tea.

The waitress took the plates away, shaking her head, and Prussia laid _his_ head on the table, trying to blot his eyes with a napkin. "Oh, my God," he groaned. "People actually _finish_ that challenge?"

"Not many," Romano admitted, looking at the wall of fame.

"Unh. Not an awesome memory. I ought to dock points for this."

"It was _your idea,_ albino potato! Don't try to blame us!"

England had paid the bill while this was going on. "Are you two able to walk? Let's get out of here."

"Uh. Better wash our hands, first. Make sure all that sauce is completely off. Plus your hair is full of sauce, Prussia. Come on." Den led his friend to the men's room, both still looking somewhat bleary.

"Dammit."

"Come on, we can wait for them outside."

…

"What the hell's taking them so long? Bastards."

England snickered. Then he looked into the restaurant. "Oh, here they come. Looks like they got more lemonade, to go."

"So that sauce was really hot, huh?"

"Git. Do you think Gilbert would have quit the challenge if it weren't?"

"Cheh, I guess not. Well, better him than me."

Denmark and Prussia came out of the restaurants slurping deeply; Prussia's hair had a weak orange tint in places. "Well, that was a memory, I guess," Denmark laughed. "Too bad it wasn't a good one."

"At least I can say I tried it. Maybe I should bring West over here and see if he can manage it."

"Long cab drive just for that, bastard, though I admit it would be very funny to watch it."

"Oh, there's got to be one in Seattle. We can look it up later, maybe take him and Veneziano there tonight? Kesesese."

"Yeah, maybe. Where are we going now?"

"Let's keep going up the hill," England suggested. "Maybe there's something on the other side of the highway."

"Why not," Prussia agreed, and slapped his friend on the back.

The friends walked up the hill in the weak sunshine, aiming for the underpass, talking of nothing in particular. Up here, the shops were set back further from the road, so they didn't bother going in to any.

Once they'd passed under the highway, Denmark pointed to a Starbucks ahead. "Let's go get some coffee. I'm not ready to eat anything, but a good iced caramel macchiato would be perfect right now."

"I don't know why they always tart up their perfectly good espresso with all this sugar and flavor and shit," Romano grumbled. "It's just fine, plain!"

"Ah, you know America. He likes to put all this junk into coffee, so he can still consider it a coffee, even though it's full of treats."

"Kesesese, just like he does with smoothies, so he can fool himself into thinking it's healthy."

"Dammit. I really do have to wonder why he doesn't weigh eight hundred pounds."

"That's true. With all those burgers…"

"Hey, bastard, how the hell did America get started on hamburgers, anyway?" Romano tried to nudge England with his elbow, but it met only air. "Uh – bastard? England?"

They turned around and saw the island nation standing a full block behind them, stock-still in the middle of the sidewalk, staring up at the horizon. His jaw was slack.

All three friends ran back to him. "Hey! England! Are you all right?" Denmark waved his hand up and down in front of his glazed face.

"Bastard, now what's wrong?" Romano hugged him, but he still didn't respond.

"Could he be having some kind of seizure?" Prussia wondered.

"Chigi! He doesn't have seizures. England, snap out of it!" Romano shook his arm, but England still didn't react.

"Seriously, Arthur, what's the problem?" Even Prussia was getting a little perturbed now.

The blond raised his arm as if he was in a dream and pointed to something, not changing his expression or responding in any other way. Almost dreading what they'd see, the other three turned slowly in place, their eyes following his pointing finger, which then fell limply back to his side.

" _Ch-chigi!_ What the hell is _that_ doing there?"

" _Kesesese~_! Wow!"

"Hey! That looks great! Better than I'd have guessed."

Romano walked around behind England and hid his face against his friend's shoulder. "It's not _summertime,_ dammit! Please tell me I'm dreaming."

"If they waited until summer, everyone would have already made plans," Denmark informed him.

"You're _not_ dreaming, Romano. This is _awesome~_!" Prussia jumped up and down in place, clapping his hands.

Romano dared to peek at Prussia. "Just _how_ awesome?"

"Yes, I fully admit it. _This_ is the most awesome memory of this vacation, so far! I'm perfectly willing to admit that and I lose the bet and this is the most fabulous thing that's ever happened, _ever_ , right, Den?" He scooted over to hug Denmark, trying to spin him around. "Even better than the Nürburgring!"

Denmark merely nodded, grinning, but Romano – although relieved about the bet – couldn't look up, and hid his face again.

"Too bad we can't climb up there and take a picture!" Prussia mused. But it was really much too high up. They eyed it for a while with varying degrees of interest – Romano continuing to hide his flaming face periodically – but England just stood on the sidewalk like a zombie, a bit of drool forming at the corner of his mouth, as he stared up at the gigantic billboard showing his three friends modeling in cruisewear, in an advertisement for Danish Summer Tourism.


	74. Seattle Meeting, Chapter 6

**Seattle Meeting, Chapter 6.**

"I can't believe your little brother passed the wing challenge!" Prussia was still fuming the next morning. "That's such a bad memory; I might have to recant from yesterday." The waitress brought their breakfasts.

"Shut up. You're an idiot for suggesting it." Romano jabbed him with an elbow and reached for the butter.

"Though I'm glad West failed. I'd feel pretty bad if _he'd_ passed, too."

"Are you sure Veneziano didn't cheat?" Denmark asked, for about the tenth time that morning. "He did have lemonade there. And he didn't look nearly as sauce-covered as we did."

"Cheh. He's just got better table manners than you morons."

"Where's Arthur?"

"Hung over. I'll go wake him up when we're done with breakfast."

England had felt very, very bad that Veneziano had been man enough to take the wing challenge and he hadn't, leading to some serious overindulgence in the hotel bar the previous night, and then some seriously stroppy behavior. Denmark had been happy to haul him up to the hotel room just to get him out of their hair. He sighed again, thinking of that, but then tried to focus on the day ahead. "So, music museum today, right? What else?"

Prussia stretched. "Let's go to the coffee shop after we get Arthur out of bed. I'm sure he could use a hot, strong coffee."

"Yeah. Dump it on his fucking head," Romano grumbled.

…

But once again England was remarkably (nay, obnoxiously) bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when they woke him up. Prussia had jumped on him, on the bed, hoping to push him into an argument, but England had simply hugged him with a smile and gotten out of the bed. "So what are we doing?" he asked, once they were outside the hotel.

"How the fuck can you be so cheerful?" Denmark was continually astonished by this. "You were _so drunk!_ "

"Well, what about you? You drink a lot more than I do, and you're never hung over."

"I'm more accustomed to it, that's all."

The island nation laughed. "Guess I'm catching up with you." He hummed a happy little tune and tried to spin Romano around.

The brunet pushed him away. "Get off, bastard."

"Fine." He hugged Prussia, who hugged him back. "Aw. Gilbert, you are so good to me."

"I know, kesesese. Come on, we're going for coffee."

…

Drinks in hand, the friends decided to wander down along the waterfront. "Seattle's a cruise ship port, but it's not really busy down here," Denmark said, surprised. "I wonder why?"

"It's the middle of winter, git. All the Seattle cruises go to Alaska. They can't sail in freezing weather! And by the way, I'm still irritated that none of you told me you were modeling for tourism ads." England scowled at Romano, who ignored this.

"Why didn't you tell him, Romano? You called him to come over, right? Oh yeah," Prussia answered his own question, "because he came to dinner with us that night. Why didn't you tell him?" he repeated.

"Cheh. Felt stupid saying it."

"Wanker."

"Bastard."

…

Pike Place Market was extremely crowded. The friends pushed their way through, looking around at this and that, wondering what was so fabulous about it. Romano had found information about it on the internet and suggested they wander through, but it was noisy and the little booths were nothing particularly special.

As they walked down the main aisle, a giant fish flew through the air past Prussia's head! "What the fuck?" The people in the crowd laughed at him. He looked around to see the fishmonger near him in the middle of a crowd of spectators, cradling a giant whole fish in his arms, laughing and yelling at the crowd. The man then threw the fish back to his colleague behind the shop counter and winked at Prussia, who grabbed Denmark by the arm and stomped off. "Why are they throwing fish around?"

"It's a tourist thing," Romano told him, scurrying to keep up. "I don't know why they do it but they're famous for it."

"They shouldn't just spring that on unsuspecting passersby. You should have warned me."

"Cheh, I forgot, all right? And I didn't know this was the part of the place where the fish guy was anyway."

"Come on, move it, then you won't get hit. Let's get out of here, this is stupid." This time Denmark grabbed Prussia and they all went back outside amidst the raucous yelling of shop owners and tourists.

"I really have to wonder how some of this stuff gets its reputation as important tourist things to see," England admitted.

"Let's get some more coffee," Romano suggested. That was his universal panacea.

"Might as well. Then maybe we should head to the music museum."

…

The music museum (the Experience Music Project, or EMP) was not as crowded as the foot-traffic areas had been. All four of them stopped and stared in consternation at the bizarre building, which looked as though it was made out of a pile of scrap metal. Maybe it was. "Th-that's a very strange design," eventually said Italy Romano, home to thousands of years of exquisite classical architecture.

"Kesesese! It looks like some giant blew his nose with a metal tissue and dropped it on the street!"

They stared for a little while longer before recalling the purpose of their visit. "Come on, gits, are we going in, or what?" They threw away their empty coffee cups and went into the strange building.

…

"Horror films! Awesome, I'd love to look at an exhibit of horror film stuff. Kesesese!"

"I don't mind," Denmark said equably.

England shrugged. "Me neither."

They all turned and looked at Romano, who ground his teeth and turned bright red. "Dammit!" He turned away, but both Prussia and Denmark hugged him.

"We don't have to do it, Romano," Den said.

"Since we love you," Prussia added.

"Chigi! Get off me." He pushed them away and swept his hair out of his face. "But thanks."

England rolled his eyes. "I'll babysit him, if you want to go look at it."

Romano punched him. "You don't have to stay with me, stupid! I can wait in the shop or something!"

"Don't worry about it. We can save that for last and see how we do, all right? Kesesese!"

"Yeah, all right." They sloped off towards the other exhibits.

…

After some wandering around, investigating the music and science fiction exhibits (which even Romano had to admit were mostly pretty interesting), they came out on the third floor. "Hey! Check this out," Den said. "Interactive music! We can go play and sing, and they'll broadcast it over the museum TVs! That's way better than karaoke. Plus they'll make it into a DVD for us to take home!"

"Heh heh," England muttered, laughing at Romano. The half-nation was predictably red-faced.

Prussia squealed with glee. "Yes, yes, yes! This will completely and awesomely take away the horrible taint of losing the wing challenge to Veneziano. Come on, we have to do it. All four of us."

"You know we'll be great," Denmark added. "They might even give us the DVD for free, since we're so good."

"Wait a minute, wait, wait, just wait," Romano grumbled. "You know I'm no good at rock and roll shit!"

"But you can sing, right?" Prussia hugged him, and he tolerated it because he was too upset about the music to realize what was happening.

"Cheh, yes, I can sing, but I don't know the songs you guys like to play."

"How about something like Sinatra? Or Johnny Mathis?" Denmark had begun leafing through the music selections. Prussia and England moved off to the side, leaning together, not daring to breathe; England still had a little smirk on his face.

"I – I do know some of their stuff. But – can you bastards play that?"

"It sounds like this really is kind of karaoke-like." Denmark was still reading about it. "It looks like they have a lot of little kids, school groups and whatever, doing it, and you know they're not all going to be able to actually play for real. So they probably have some background music for it."

"We can probably wing it, anyway," Prussia bragged.

"Come look at the song list, Romano."

He crossed to Denmark's side. "Dammit. These are all love songs!"

"Well, of course they are! That's what Mathis and Sinatra were famous for, kesesese." Prussia came over and poked him. England stared up at the ceiling, playing nonchalant.

"Uh. Well, I do know 'Chances Are,'" Romano admitted. He kept his eyes on the song list, his face still quite red.

The other three looked at each other. The island nation was still smirking, and he nodded eagerly at his friends. Denmark and Prussia broke into big smiles. "Awesome! Yes, let's do 'Chances Are.' That will definitely be the best memory of the vacation. And you know what, Romano? You don't even have to sing it to _me_. You can just sing it."

" _Chigi!_ I wouldn't sing a – a – a love song to _you_ , albino potato!" Romano turned to stalk away, but Denmark grabbed his arm.

"Come on, don't get mad at him. Let's just go make a good memory."

"Cheh, yes, all right. Whatever!"

They entered the stage area and were directed to the proper places after requesting four copies of the DVD recording. "Do you need the instruments programmed?" the assistant asked.

"If I'm playing keyboards, I probably need the help," England admitted. "Playing 'Chances Are' on a guitar would be tough."

"Um…could you put the lyrics out for me?" Romano asked meekly. "If I freak out I'm not going to remember the words." He scowled. Prussia patted him on the shoulder supportively. The assistant got everything set up and stepped out of the area.

The music began and the friends began playing. Romano's singing voice was actually quite moving; none of the others had ever heard him sing before, except a little bit when he'd been drunk. He kept his eyes down on the lyrics sheet, blushing, but he sang very well. Prussia and Denmark grinned at each other and mugged for the camera that they knew was recording them, but England played the keyboards with a sweet expression, listening to his friend sing so melodiously.

Near the end of the song, when he sang, "The one and only one for me," Romano peeked at England shyly; when he saw the soft smile on his friend's face, he blushed again and smiled before quickly turning back to the lyrics sheet. Prussia poked Denmark with the bass when he saw this, and they finished the song.

"Enough of all this sappiness," the albino said when the song was done; "you guys were all awesome, and I want to do a rock song."

"I told you, bastard, I –"

"You don't have to sing! Playing 'Chances Are' with you was the new most-awesome memory, so thank you. Just stay here with us. You could plink around on the keyboard while Arthur plays the guitar? Since the keyboard can be programmed?"

"Yeah, I can do that."

"What are we going to play?" England asked. He came over and nudged Romano with an elbow, smiling subtly at him. Romano turned red again and ran a hand over his face, turning away, and then walked over to the keyboard bench.

"Hey! 'Peace Frog'! I love that song," Den said, looking at the list. "It has a damn good bass riff, too, Prussia."

"Yes, yes, let's. Hey, Arthur, can I sing it?"

"I don't mind. Do you remember the words?"

"Ah, back me up; if I forget, you can sing them. All right?"

"All right."

They called the assistant back in and he set them up before cueing the opening notes for them. Romano didn't even know this song, so he just fiddled around with the keyboard a bit. It was a pretty good rock song, he had to admit, even if the words were a little hardcore. Both England and Prussia took maximum advantage of the rock music to jump around and perform for their invisible audience. Prussia didn't forget the words.

When it was over, Denmark started looking through the song list again, but the assistant apologetically informed them that there was a queue, and they needed to leave the stage.

"Dammit. That was actually kind of fun." They walked out of the area and were met by an appreciative crowd of museumgoers applauding them, having watched the show on the TVs. Romano and England both felt a bit embarrassed, but Den and Prussia hammed it up, bowing, waving, and blowing kisses, as the four of them exited the area.

"Come on. Let's get our DVDs and go to dinner."

"Kesesese! Yes, come on!" Prussia grabbed Romano's arm and dragged him away.


	75. Seattle Meeting, Chapter 7

**Seattle Meeting, Chapter 7.**

Brandishing their DVDs, the friends left the EMP, completely forgetting about the horror movie exhibit. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Prussia jumped in the air, then picked up Romano and spun him around, and then tried to pick up Denmark and spin him around. That attempt failed. "What an awesome day!"

"It _was_ pretty bloody awesome," England murmured to Romano, who blushed. Their steps slowed as they began to discuss the singing experience quietly.

Ahead of them, Den grabbed Prussia. "Come on. Let's go eat. I'm starving." He hauled his boyfriend towards the Space Needle. "Remember, you're paying."

"I know." Prussia dropped his voice so Romano wouldn't crow about it, and then said, "I admit I lost the bet, Den, dear. You and Romano have made this an awesome week of vacation."

"Pfft. Whatever. Move your albino ass."

…

"Well, if this week's been any indication, our summer vacation ought to be pretty good," Denmark laughed. "Since we won't have to go to any meetings, just hang out and have fun."

Prussia agreed. "Yes, and there shouldn't be any weather problems. LA is always sunny and warm."

"Chigi! You know as soon as you say something like that, you tempt fate, and it's going to rain the whole time we're there." Romano drummed his fingers on the table. "You stupid potato."

But the others just laughed at him. "Kesesese! You really believe in that kind of thing? We could make a bet?"

"No bets for a while, please, bastard. Trying to win the bet this week nearly killed me."

"Yeah, Romano and I spent more time thinking about the damn bet than we did about the meeting!"

"Not that you missed much," England put in. "Half the stuff on the agenda we're going to have to revisit at the next meeting."

"Thanks for the warning. I think I'll skip it." Romano closed his menu and waited for the waiter. "Where is the next one, anyway?"

"Salzburg, but not until April," Denmark told him. "I'm looking forward to it, though; I love visiting Austria."

"Kesesese! Yes, indeed, my friend Austria does host some wonderful meetings. I may go to that one just to pester him and enjoy the beautiful city."

"There is a lot of beautiful stuff there," England agreed, sighing. "I could easily do a two-week vacation in Salzburg, or Salzburg and Vienna."

Prussia sat up attentively, slapping his menu on the table. "Maybe we should! This _is_ the year of awesome vacations. If we all went to the meeting, we could do like this one, the weekend before and after. And in April there probably wouldn't be too much weather trouble."

"First of all, _first_ of all, albino potato, where the hell are you going to get the money for _another_ vacation? You've been bitching all week about the stupid souvenir money and not being able to cover our bet. You really think the potato bastard's going to give you more money just to go playing around at Austria's place?"

"He might," England laughed. "He might do it just to get Gilbert out of his hair for a while."

"Yeah, but that means Germany would have to put up with Prussia at the meeting all week, too. So he's not really getting him out of his hair." Den elbowed his albino friend.

"You three are all such –"

"Party poopers?" Den and Romano asked, laughing.

"No! I was going to say _wet blankets._ "

This archaic term made them all laugh, even Prussia. The waiter came and took their orders.

Denmark put his palms down on the table. "Well…let's talk about this Austria idea. Could we actually do it?"

"I could probably do it," England told him, fiddling with his cutlery, "but I'm not sure you want me tagging along on your vacations all year." He grinned at Romano. "I'm sure Romano and I will have plenty of fun together when you two aren't around."

The brunet blushed and rubbed his hand over his face. "Shut up, bastard. We can talk about that later."

"Kesesese! You'll be there for the meeting, though, right? So, even if you don't do the flanking weekends, you can hang out with us during the week. Would that work?"

"Works for me," the island nation said easily. "Just let me pick some of the evening sightseeing or restaurants. That all right with you?" He elbowed Romano.

"Cheh, sure, whatever." He drank some coffee.

"But you said you weren't going to that meeting, Romano. Why? Do you have something against Austria?" Prussia pouted a little. "He's really a nice guy!"

"What? No. I just didn't see the point. I don't usually attend meetings, so I didn't plan to go. But I can go, sure. I only came to this one because of our vacation."

"Aw. You know you love vacations." Everyone ignored this.

The waiter brought their salads. "Oh! I completely forgot to tell you guys," Denmark remembered, smacking himself in the forehead. "Since we did the modeling, we've earned a free cruise, too."

" _Wow!_ " Prussia jumped out of his chair, knocking it over. "Den, you're serious?"

"Sit down!" Romano hissed at him. "Get a grip on yourself."

"Kesesese, all right," Prussia stage-whispered. He righted his chair and sat back down. "But, Den, are you seriously serious?"

"Yes, I'm seriously serious." He punched Prussia in the arm. "Nine days, traveling to all the Baltic-area capital cities. I was thinking we could go in September, since that will be well after the thrill of our LA vacation has worn off. Will you go?"

"I've never been on a cruise," Romano pointed out. "Even though Rome is a port of call, too. I'd go."

"Well, you _know_ I've never been on one. Stupid West is too much of a cheapskate. I'm going. A free cruise!"

The waiter brought their meals; the three friends eagerly discussed their cruise. England kept out of the discussion entirely except to point out, slightly maliciously, that all three of them might have to share the same stateroom. "Chigi! I didn't think of that." Romano poked at his penne angrily.

"Aw, it'll be all right. I promise Den and I will behave ourselves."

"Bastard. It's not Den I'm worried about!"

"Romano, you _wound_ me. You know I can awesomely behave well!"

Denmark started laughing at them. "I…don't know about that. Romano may have a point. You know I can put up with you, but…?"

"Damn it. I promise I'll behave, all right? Don't screw up my awesome cruise vacation before I even get started."

"Fine. Whatever. I'm man enough to deal with your stupid albino bullshit."

"Kesesese. Time for another bet!"

Den groaned. "No more bets yet! We'll come up with a bet when the cruise starts."

"And when the LA vacation starts, bastards, don't forget that."

"And in Austria, too, probably. Right?" England glared at them all, and then burst out laughing.

"Yes, indeed." Prussia pushed his empty plate away and burped discreetly.

…

"Damn, that was a really good meal." Denmark looked at all the empty plates on the table and weakly reached for his drink. "This was a really good little vacation. Thanks."

Prussia leaned over and hugged him. "Are we getting dessert?"

"Ugh. I don't even think I could eat anything else now, dammit. I ate too much," Romano groaned.

"Could get some for takeaway. There's a pretty extensive dessert menu." England picked up the menu.

"Kesesese, and you know, you _know_ that America has awesome desserts. Let's look at the menu, anyway."

He and Denmark put their heads together over the menu; Romano and the island nation did the same. There were hushed murmurs around the table. "What the heck. I'll get dessert here. I'm still kind of hungry," Prussia decided.

When the waiter came back, he and Denmark ordered tiramisu, grinning widely at their Italian friend, but Romano blushed and asked for two pieces of apple pie in a takeout box.

The friends sat quietly drinking coffee and digesting until the waiter returned with the plated tiramisu, the boxed dessert, and the check. England took the check from him and paid it immediately, oblivious to the dropped jaws of the other three. The waiter walked away; the blond looked at his friends in a dawning panic. "What? What? What the hell's the matter with all of you? I just thought I'd pick up the tab! What's the big deal? Is that so bloody rare?"

Prussia leaped out of his chair (knocking it over again) and came to hug him. "Arthur, you are an awesome friend. I love you!"

"Yes, I know you love me, git. I love you too; now go back to your chair." England shoved the albino away, scowling in irritation at the others.

"Never mind about it, bastard. Thanks for paying for dinner," Romano finally sighed, shaking his head.

"Yeah, uh…thanks. That was a – nice gesture." Denmark too seemed to deflate a bit.

"Well? Come on; let's eat our awesome dessert! What a great, great way to end this cool week of vacation." Prussia did a little dance in his seat, beaming at them all.


	76. Wordplay

**Wordplay.**

"Hey! Hey, Romano!" Prussia ran across the street. "What are you doing here? Want to go get some coffee? Huh? Come on, why are you here? You missed me? It's great to see you no matter what!" He ran so fast that Gilbird fell off his head and had to fly across the street on his own.

"You're the biggest fucking idiot in the world. I'm here because I'm supposed to be meeting you and Denmark."

"You _are?_ We had plans today?" Prussia stopped and thought about this while Romano frowned and stared at him in irritation. "Are you sure? Maybe you got the wrong date? I don't remember this at all." Gilbird finally caught up and settled in on Prussia's head again.

"You're a complete moron. Let's wait until Den shows up, and then he'll tell you what a moron you are, too. Hi, Gilbird." Romano reached up to stroke the soft feathers with his forefinger.

"Cheep."

"What if he doesn't show up? What if you got the wrong date?" They walked over to sit under the tree. The early spring weather wasn't exactly balmy yet, but it wasn't too bad.

"I didn't get the wrong date, albino potato! Let's – let's just sit down and wait for Den."

"Well, that's stupid. If you _did_ get the wrong date, we'll be sitting around under the tree all day. Let me call him."

Romano handed his cell phone to his chronically technology-free friend and sighed, leaning back against the tree. "Wish you could talk the potato bastard into getting you your own fucking phone."

Prussia dialed. They heard Denmark's ringtone behind them; he didn't bother to answer his phone. "Damn, Prussia, give me a minute, will you? I'm not late yet! In fact, I'm early. Hey, Romano."

"Hi, Den. Potato boy forgot we were meeting today." He rolled his eyes.

"Kesesese! I totally didn't forget!"

"What are you talking about? You spent ten minutes telling me you didn't know we had plans today!"

"But – I – was – _joking!_ You're so much fun to tease, Romano." Prussia reached out and ruffled his hair.

"Dammit. You're a bastard." He fixed his hair. Denmark and Prussia both laughed at him.

"What are we going to do today, my awesome friends?"

"I want coffee," Romano grumbled. "I _need_ coffee."

"Yes," Den agreed. "I want another iced caramel macchiato like I got in Kirkland. I can see America's point of view more and more now with those things."

"Hey! Speaking of Kirkland, how's my dear Arthur doing?" Prussia nudged Romano with his elbow and helped him stand up so they could walk off to the coffee shop.

"Ah, fine, I guess. Today's his baking day. Making scones." The three friends shuddered as they walked off.

"Good thing you're here with us," Prussia pointed out. "You wouldn't want to get sick."

Denmark thought about this. "Well, but maybe if Romano helped him, he'd actually make edible scones?"

Ten steps later the three of them said "Nah" in unison.

When they reached the coffee shop there was a line outside. "Guess there's a big demand for the fucking spoon of the week, bastard."

"No, the spoon promotion is over." Prussia sighed sadly. "I got them all except the Colosseum. Romano, are your coffee shops having any spoon promotions?"

"Cheh. How would I know? I make my own coffee. The only time I have to buy coffee somewhere is when I'm out with you bastards." They moved inside to order.

"Would – would you check, for me, when you get back? It's such a downer to have every single spoon except that one."

Denmark thought about this as he drank his coffee treat. "Maybe the Colosseum sells souvenir spoons anyway? I mean, they wouldn't match the coffee shop spoons, probably, but…at least you'd have one?"

"No, no, no, Den, that just wouldn't be right. It has to be from the same set."

"Did you try ebay, albino potato?"

"Well…yes, but…West won't let me have an ebay account and I haven't managed to hack his yet. And even if he did, there haven't been any of the spoons listed."

"Too bad," Romano smirked. "Come on, let's walk. It's a pretty nice day."

For a while they discussed the upcoming Austria meeting and plans for it. "I don't even care if we make any actual plans," the Italian admitted. "It was kind of fun in Seattle, just deciding things every day."

"Awesome! Plus, then I don't have to do any research."

"Lazy bastard."

"Listen, though," Den complained. "I like to have some idea of stuff we're going to do. I get really nervous when we're just sitting around bullshitting and wasting time when we could be doing something fun." Both Romano and Prussia burst into laughter at that. "What? What are you laughing at?" Denmark looked highly offended.

"Bastard, all we ever _do_ is sit around bullshitting and wasting time!"

"Unless we're walking around, bullshitting and wasting time! Kesesese!" Prussia punched Den in the shoulder.

Denmark punched him back. "Stupid. You know what I meant."

"Ow. You're a brute." Prussia rubbed his shoulder.

"So what? You've known that for centuries."

"Are we actually doing anything today?" Romano asked, in a halfhearted attempt to make peace between them.

"Eh." This from Denmark, with a shrug.

"I…have a request." Prussia spoke in such a quiet tone that both the others stopped walking and stared at him.

When he didn't continue, Romano elbowed him. "Hello? Anybody in there?" He knocked on Prussia's skull, dislodging Gilbird, who flapped around for a while and then nestled into Denmark's hair.

"I've been thinking about something. You know how superheroes have awesome names? Like Clark Kent is Superman?"

"That's not an awesome name, bastard, that's just a stupid one. You should have said something like Erik Lehnsherr is Magneto. Magneto is a cool name. Superman is a sucky name."

Denmark was shocked. "You actually know about the X-Men?"

"Chigi! Do you think I live in a cave or something? Shut up."

"Anyway, Prussia, why the hell are you asking about superhero names? Going to start a new career?"

"Cheh. 'Potato Man.' Kills acquaintances by frustrating them to death."

Prussia punched the brunet. "I want an awesome name like a superhero."

"Ow. You already have a million names, bastard. Prussia, Gilbert, _Lucy_ …"

"Teutonic Knights…"

"Den, that's just lame. Nobody's going to go around calling me Teutonic Knights anymore."

"I was just trying to make a point." Denmark finished his iced coffee and threw the cup in a nearby trash can.

"Well, so was I! The point is that I want a superhero name, or a motto, or preferably both. I'm so awesome that I really need something that will stand out. Not just my nation name, or my human name."

"Stupid Boy?"

"Shut up, Romano. You could be Lame Boy."

"Dammit. Is this going to end up like the day we picked our 'awesome team name'? A whole day of spouting stupid names?"

"What's wrong with that? We hung out all day and had fun, and we can do it again! Right, Den?"

"I don't actually mind. It's true we had nothing better to do. Since Romano won't play paintball anymore we're kind of stuck."

"Fine, then I officially declare today 'Come Up with a Cool Name and Motto for Prussia' Day." He did a little dance on the sidewalk. Gilbird came back to sit on his shoulder.

Romano growled. If he'd had any coffee left, he would have flung it at the albino, but he didn't, so he just threw the cup away. "What is this for, anyway? Just who are you expecting to call you by this new name, or use this new motto? Going to put it on a shirt, Stupid Boy?"

Denmark gave him a funny look. "You know, the more idiotic your suggestions are, the longer this is going to take."

"Good point. All right. But… _Potato_ Boy could be good."

"That is not good! First of all, anything with 'boy' is too lame. I have to be Something Man, or else some kind of name that isn't like that."

"Potato _Brain._ Everybody calls you that anyway, bastard."

"You didn't let me finish." Prussia elbowed him. "Second of all, it can't be something that will get people confused with West! He's a potato brain too."

Both his friends began laughing. "I guess Potato Brain really works for you."

"Shut up, Den."

But Denmark softened his comment by putting an arm around his friend and hugging him. "Come on. You know you love Potato Brain."

This time all three of them laughed. "Yes, all right. But seriously."

"Well, you do kind of have a motto already," Romano mused. "That 'you know you love me' shit."

"But I only use that with you. Or, well, sometimes with Den…" His voice trailed off and he blushed.

"Shut up! I don't want to know, dammit."

"Right. Save it for tonight, Teutonic Knights."

"Gah! Will you please take me seriously?" Prussia scrubbed his hands through his hair violently. "Come on. If you two are so smart, put your awesome brains to work. Think of something."

"So…you're telling us, bastard, that you are not smart enough to come up with something? That you don't have an awesome brain?"

Unfortunately for Romano, Prussia did have some coffee left in his cup, and he threw it at him. "Chigi!" It splashed all over his shirt. "You're the world's biggest idiot. Now I have to walk around in a wet shirt all day."

"You could take it off," Denmark suggested in his fake, nonchalant voice.

"Kesesese! Shirtless Boy!"

Romano didn't dignify either of those comments with an answer. He buttoned his jacket over the wet shirt as they walked on.

"Why do you want this name, anyway, Prussia?" Denmark ruffled the white hair affectionately. "Everybody knows how awesome you are –"

"– how awesome you _think_ you are –"

"– so why bother?"

"Because it would be cool! Because we have nothing better to do today."

Romano snorted. "I'm almost willing to go play paintball if it will shut him up."

"Really?"

"No." He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. "Want to go in the stupid pet store while we think?"

"No. Let's go somewhere else."

"What else is there? Grocery store, manicures – do _not_ tell me you want a fucking manicure, bastard – shoe store, furniture? Why would we go to any of those places?"

"Eh, let's go to the grocery store," Denmark suggested. "I can pick up some stuff for later."

"Besides, I do my own manicures," Prussia sniffed. He held out his hands for Romano's inspection; the brunet whacked them away. "Kesesese."

So they went into the grocery store. "Grocery Man," Romano suggested.

"Still stupid!" Prussia got a shopping cart, which he pushed and rode on alternately.

"Beer-Brained Bastard. Triple B."

"Wurst Man. Cabbage Hero." Denmark laughed and led them to the bakery aisle.

"No, you can't use 'hero,' or America will throw a fit, bastard."

"Cupcake Man! I love cupcakes." Prussia grabbed three bags of cherry cupcakes and threw them in the cart.

"Do you have any idea how many nations would make fun of you with a name like Cupcake Man?" Romano laughed at him.

"Well, you think of something."

"The Albino Nuisance."

"Hey, yeah. That's a good one, Prussia. Suits you." Denmark took the bags of cherry cupcakes out of the cart and whacked him in the ass with them.

"Shut up. I would think at least you would support me, Den. Hey! Why are you putting the cupcakes back?"

"We're shopping for me, remember? Not for you. If you let me call you Cupcake Boy when we're alone together, I'll let you get them, though." Denmark waggled his eyebrows.

Prussia blushed and stared at him. "Uh – if I do – you'll – you'll seriously help me think of a name?"

Romano snorted. "You know if you let him call you that, he's going to forget, slip up, and say it at a meeting or something."

Prussia went from blushing to blanching. "Uh. You're right. Forget it, Den. No calling me Cupcake Boy, ever."

Denmark pouted and directed them to the prepared foods aisle. "How about just 'cupcake'? That's kind of cute. My little albino cupcake."

 _"Chigi!"_

"No. Hey, let's get some sardines." Prussia grabbed a few tins and began checking the expiration dates.

"Prussia! We're shopping for _me_ , not for you. Will you get that through your potato brain?" Denmark flicked him in the back of the head.

The albino gave him a lazy smile. "But if I'm staying over tonight…?"

Romano turned right around and stomped into the next aisle.

His friends immediately followed, laughing. "You're too sensitive. You – uh – you need to go see Arthur tonight." Prussia nudged him.

"I _am_ going to see Arthur tonight, idiot. If, and this is a big if, _if_ I don't end up in jail later from beating the shit out of you!"

"Kesesese! You know we love to fight. Now come on, let's help Den get his groceries."

As they walked the aisles, choosing various things that Denmark felt he needed to buy, they threw out more names and mottoes for Prussia. Despite Romano's best intentions to focus and get this over with, all he could come up with were names that annoyed the hell out of his friend. "The Crazy Cabbage."

"Damn it! I don't even _like_ cabbage. That's one of West's deals."

"Well…what do you like? Besides beer and wurst?" Denmark looked at him speculatively. "And cupcakes, of course."

Prussia blushed again. "Let's not make it a food item, all right? Let's – let's make it something to do with, oh, fighting, I think. Since I'm such an awesome fighter."

"The Strategic Potato."

"Nope, too easy to confuse with West again. And it's food-related, too. Focus, please, Romano."

"You're just too fucking picky, bastard."

Denmark tried to lead them past the pet food aisle, but Gilbird began cheeping madly and flapping around just out of reach. "All right, little one. Come back. We'll buy some bird seed." Prussia extended his hand and the bird landed on it, its cheeps changing to softer chirps as the albino drew it close for a little kiss on the beak. "Come on, you two. Let's get some bird seed for my little fluffy one."

Romano thought about this as they looked at various bags of bird seed. "You're surprisingly gentle with Gilbird," he finally said. "Why is that? You're such a violent bastard with everybody else."

"Hey! The Violent Bastard!" Prussia did a little dance here, too.

"Wear a purple costume and you could be the Violet Bastard," Denmark laughed.

"Well, seriously, I don't want 'bastard' in my name. Everybody would think it was Romano's pet name for me."

"Dammit." Romano kicked him.

"No; everybody knows his pet name for you is the Albino Potato."

Prussia scowled. " _Anyway_ , I have to be gentle with my little Gilbird. To protect him and keep him safe. Being as little and weak as he is."

At that, the bird began cheeping loudly again, leaving Prussia's extended finger to go sit on Romano's head. "Just stay away from the hair curl," he warned.

It took the three friends two full hours to proceed through the store. At the end of that time they had a shopping cart brimming with Denmark's groceries, and no suitable name or motto for the albino. Romano felt hungry and grumpy. Gilbird had returned to Denmark's nestlike hair and fallen asleep.

"This is stupid," Denmark realized. "This is way too much for me to carry home. Or even for me and you to carry together," he told Prussia.

"What if Romano helps? He said he's going to Arthur's anyway, so it's kind of on the way?"

"What do you think, Romano? Can you help carry this stuff?"

"Of course I can, dammit. The question is _will I_?" Denmark pouted at him cutely. "Yes, all right, pouty bastard, I'll help. Come on, pay for it and let's go. Maybe we can solve the stupid albino motto situation on the way."

"If not, we can eat cupcakes while we think about it at Den's place."

"I'm starving," Romano agreed. "I wish you didn't need to get all this stuff home right away. We could go out to eat somewhere."

Denmark looked through the cart. "There's actually nothing perishable in here. We could buy it, go get lunch, and then head to my place?"

"Please," Romano begged.

"Kesesese! All right, that works for me. I'm the Amenable Albino." Everyone stopped and looked at him carefully while he considered this. "Yes, I could be the Amenable Albino."

"Except for the fact that you are actually never amenable," Romano snorted.

"Well, that's not true. He was amenable about going to lunch." Den wheeled the cart to the checkout and began putting items on the conveyor belt.

"You seriously want people to start calling you the Amenable Albino, bastard?" This seemed a bit dubious to Romano.

"Wh-why not?" Prussia still sounded somewhat distracted by the concept. "I'm amenable, and I'm an albino, so it fits perfectly. Plus then I could have a giant AA on my costume! Kesesese!" He quickly snapped back to normal. "What do you guys think?" He beamed.

"I don't give a damn," Denmark laughed as the cashier rang up his purchases. "I'm going to keep calling you Prussia."

"I don't care, either, bastard. I'll probably keep calling you the albino potato, though, no matter how hard I try otherwise."

"That's okay, Romano. I love you and I'm willing to take that chance." Prussia hugged him in the checkout line. Romano just rolled his eyes and let him.

Denmark loaded the cart with the bagged groceries to push outside. "So, Amenable Albino…why didn't you want Awesome in your superhero name?"

Prussia smacked himself in the forehead. "Can you believe I completely didn't think of it? Damn! All right. What sounds better? The Awesome Amenable Albino or the Amenable Awesome Albino? Triple A! Much better than Triple B, the beer-bellied bastard, or whatever the hell you called me before." He poked Romano.

"This was making sense for a while, but now it's getting ridiculous again, dammit."

"Yeah, Romano's right. You've just gone back into potato brain territory with that. Why don't you just go with the Awesome Albino?"

"Look." Romano, frustrated, whacked him in the arm. "Do you want a name, or a motto? We could probably do one or the other, but having to think of both is making my head hurt."

"You're just suffering from low blood sugar. You'll be all right once we have lunch." Prussia hugged him and then let go to remove some grocery bags from the cart.

"Stop hugging me, dammit."

"The Amenable Albino: Hugs on Demand."

"Ugh!" Both Romano and Prussia punched Den, which as usual had no effect at all.

"Pick up these grocery bags, slackers."

This made Romano laugh aloud. "The Strategic Slacker: finding new ways to goof off since the 13th century."

Prussia stopped in the act of picking up a bag. "I don't care what you say. You _must_ love me, because you remember all these great facts about Prussia!"

"Cheh. Whatever. How can I not remember, when you're always bragging about them?" He picked up a few bags. "Come on, bastards, let's move."

"Yeah, all right. Come on, Teutonic Knights, grab those bags and haul ass."

"Eh. I guess Teutonic Knights is good enough." Prussia picked up the last two bags and they headed off to Denmark's house.

 _..._

 _This one's still open, if anyone can think of a good nickname for him. Just shoot me a PM or put it in a review._


	77. Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 1

**Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 1**

The hotel bar was hopping. "This is amazing," Denmark laughed. "The meetings haven't even started yet! And everybody's half-sloshed." It was true; many nations had come down to the bar; many nations had already become at least tipsy. It was the Saturday evening before the meeting.

"I don't get this. Dammit, why did everybody else get here early? I thought the three of us would at least have a little vacation time alone. Didn't know we'd have to deal with all these other morons." Romano scowled. At least the potato bastard wasn't in sight.

Prussia laughed as he looked around the bar. "Kesesese, who cares? Let's see if we can make somebody miserable."

"I'm sure _you_ can, Amenable Teutonic Potato, or whatever the fuck you decided on."

"Didn't decide yet. We can keep working on that."

"I bet we can come up with something by the end of the week," Denmark surmised.

"Not taking that bet, bastard. Come on, pick a table and let's sit."

Prussia pointed eagerly. "Over there! Look!" America and Austria sat at a table, heads close together, talking quietly, with drinks in front of them. "Come on, we have to go sit there and make a scene. I really can't understand this. They're _still_ dating? Let's go awesomely intrude."

"Why not?" Denmark asked of no one in particular, and they headed over to claim some seats there.

"So, Austria," the albino purred, sliding into the seat next to him. "How are you doing, my old friend?"

America looked a bit miffed at this intrusion, but Austria sniffed. "I'm perfectly fine, Prussia. And how are all of you?"

"We're working on it," Den replied, flagging down a waitress. "We need some drinks."

"Kesesese. We need some memories."

Romano smacked him. "Drinks, bastard, drinks. I'm not going to spend _this_ whole week working on memories. That ship has sailed."

Prussia flapped his hand. "Whatever! Austria, my dear, is this hotel well-stocked? Will we have enough food to last the week?"

"What a ridiculous question. There will certainly be enough food. Supply trucks do run in this city, I'm sure you're aware." Austria paused. "I'm simply not sure how much liquor we'll require _,_ at this rate," he pointed out, gesturing to the roomful of buzzing nations. The waitress brought their drinks.

America mused, "Well, if we all drink all the booze tonight—"

" _High-quality liquor,_ kesesese—"

"—then at least you don't have to worry about everyone getting bombed the rest of the week." The hero beamed at them and put his arm around Austria.

This irritated Prussia and he flung an arm around the dark-haired nation as well, glancing apologetically at Den, who rolled his eyes and laughed. Romano gave Prussia a tiny little appreciative smirk. "So, how long have you two been awesomely dating?" The albino managed to reach past Austria and poke America in the shoulder; the blond turned red. So did Austria.

"Since your party," America confessed quietly. "It was a great party. Austria looked so classy, and Japan was ignoring me, so…"

"I don't see how anyone could ignore _you_ ," Austria murmured quietly, turning to smile at him.

"Ack. Let's go find another table, bastards." The three friends hastily left the lovebirds behind.

"Too weird," Prussia agreed.

There were no empty tables at the moment. At a big corner table, Switzerland sat with Liechtenstein, each staring dejectedly at the tabletop. Den nudged his friends. "Do you see Ice anywhere? Maybe she's sad because he's ignoring her? I wonder if that's still going on." The three of them stood scanning the crowded, noisy room, drinking their drinks, until they spotted Iceland, who was leaning against the wall some distance from Swissy's table, staring equally dismally at Liechtenstein. She didn't seem to sense his presence.

"Bet I know what happened," Prussia announced. "Swissy told him to blow. Not awesome! Come on, somewhere else we can interfere!"

"Bastard." But they both followed him.

"Hey, Ice! Come sit with us!" Denmark yelled, on their way to the table.

Iceland looked like he was going to say no, but when he saw where they were headed, he pushed himself off the wall and slouched over to them. "Denmark," he said pleasantly.

All four of them descended on the corner table, Prussia next to Swissy. "Hey, Switzerland," Denmark said. "Liechtenstein."

"Hello," the two nations replied sullenly, Liechtenstein not looking up. The Skirmish Brothers carefully avoided the seat next to Liechtenstein. When Iceland saw this, he gave Denmark a surprised grin and slipped into that seat.

"Why are you two sitting all alone in the corner?" Prussia wondered. "We thought you looked a little down, so we're here to cheer you up."

"Thanks; that's nice of you." Switzerland sounded unconvinced. Romano waved to the waitress for another round of drinks.

Denmark had squished himself in between Romano and Iceland. "Hey, this table's too crowded," he said, nudging the brunet. "Quit hogging all the space." He moved his chair closer to Iceland, as if to get away from Romano's elbow.

Iceland, of course, moved away from Denmark's encroaching chair, ending up much closer to Liechtenstein than before. "It's...so good to see you, Denmark," he said, smiling. "Thanks for calling me over." Prussia and Denmark beamed at him and drank their drinks. Romano simply drank.

Some conversation happened. Switzerland was not in a chatty mood, but Prussia more than made up for it. "You know, this is really stupid," Romano interrupted after a while.

"What? How could the awesome me be doing anything stupid?"

"Listen, Teutonic potato. We should go out somewhere, not stick around in the fucking hotel bar, where we're going to be stuck all week if the meetings run late. Remember what happened in Seattle."

Prussia's eyes grew wide. "That is actually an excellent point, my Italian friend. You guys want to go out for dinner? We didn't eat yet." He magnanimously included Switzerland, Liechtenstein and Iceland in his invitation.

Iceland seemed to be waiting to see what Swissy and his little sister would do.

Liechtenstein also.

"Why not," Switzerland finally sighed. Everyone got up from the table.

"Get your coats! Meet in the lobby in ten minutes!" Prussia crowed, and they all split up for their gear.

…

"Wah, we are such awesome matchmakers," he sighed later, in the elevator, after dinner and much drinking.

Romano, more cynical, doubted it. "Swissy isn't going to let it happen, you know. He – he was – he was kind of being all right with it since there were so many of us there, but if Iceland tries to – _hiccup_ – take Liechtenstein out on a date or something, he's toast." He grinned a little at this idea.

"It's not like he doesn't know what he's getting into. Ice is pretty savvy, and I bet he doesn't make any stupid moves that antagonize Swissy. He'll take his time." Denmark leaned against the wall of the elevator. "This elevator is really slow!" He pushed himself off the wall and stabbed at the button for their floor again.

Nothing happened.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, _no,_ " Romano groaned. "Do not tell me I'm stuck in a fucking elevator with you two tonight! _Dammit!"_

"Normally, _normally_ , I would torment you about this, Romano, my friend, but…I really have to pee." Prussia started squirming. "I don't want to be stuck in an elevator either."

"Shut up, bastard! Shut the fuck up! It's bad enough we're stuck in here but do not talk about that, dammit…please?" He turned a begging face to Prussia, who laughed and ruffled his hair. Romano tried to fix it.

"Yes, all right. Sorry." Prussia stabbed the button as Denmark had done.

No luck. "Damn you, Prussia." Denmark punched him.

"Hey, don't blame me, Den. I don't build the elevators around here. I'm going to have a serious talk with Austria later." Prussia sat on the floor with his legs stretched out and crossed tightly together.

"Bastard, that is not going to help us now." Romano sat on the floor too, tailor-fashion, leaning forward with his head in his hands. "Dammit."

"Yes. This is stupid." Denmark stayed standing, continuing to push the elevator button.

"Talk to me, you guys. Distract me, help me out." Prussia, wild-eyed, poked Romano with his foot.

Swat. "What the fuck do you want me to say, bastard? You're an idiot?"

"Why are you blaming me?"

"Cheh. You _are_ an idiot. You're just – just so easy to blame for everything."

"That's completely unfair, you know." Denmark nudged Romano with _his_ foot. "He didn't do anything."

"I know. Sorry," Romano grumbled. "Remind me to give Austria a piece of my mind. This really sucks."

"Do you have a piece to spare, Romano?"

"Shut up, potato brain."

"Oh, yeah. We can talk about my motto while we're stuck!"

Luckily, the elevator began to move, and the three nations breathed a massive sigh of relief. "Maybe we should take the steps from now on. I don't want to risk getting stuck in here for real. It's too small." Denmark looked up; his hair nearly touched the ceiling.

"A very good point, bastard. In fact, push the fucking button; I'm going to get out and walk right now."

"Kesesese! Awesome idea." When the elevator stopped all three of them rushed out and found themselves on the floor below theirs. "Come on; stairs are this way."

Denmark clapped Romano on the shoulder as they headed for the stairwell. "You said England's not getting here until Monday morning?"

"Right. He said he'd try to get here tomorrow night, but…he didn't think it would happen."

"Poor Arthur. Such a hardworking – uh – wanker."

They laughed a little as they headed up the stairs. "Well, let's meet downstairs at seven? We can go out for breakfast?"

"Den, it's fucking one in the morning, and I'm drunk! I can't get up at seven, dammit!"

"You're miserable sometimes, Romano."

"I'll be even more miserable if you make me get up at seven. You and the albino potato go out to breakfast. Come get me around, oh, eleven? We can go do something after that. See if you can find something vacationy to do?" Romano beamed at Prussia, who recoiled.

"Ugh. You're scary when you smile like that. But – yeah, that sounds like an okay plan. Denmark and I will come get you at eleven."

Romano headed to his hotel room. "Right. See you tomorrow!"

Prussia and Denmark both blew him kisses. "Come on, cupcake, let's find our room."

"Kesesese!"

 _"Shut the fuck up, bastards!_ "


	78. Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 2

**Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 2.**

"Dammit, I can't believe this. So much for our fucking year of awesome vacations. It's like these meetings are some kind of bad-luck charm."

Den snarled. "Yeah. First Seattle, and now this."

"You two! Calm down! I mean, I can see why Romano gets pissed off; he doesn't get a lot of snow in Italy, but Den, I'd think _you_ would be cool with this. It's always cold at your place." Prussia pursed his lips and peered out the hotel room window at the whitening Austrian landscape.

"That's the point. It's so cold, and I'm sick of it, and I hoped this vacation – which is in _April!_ – would be a nice, balmy time. Not more snow." Denmark flicked Prussia in the head, but the albino didn't respond.

"This sucks," Romano grumbled. He moved away from the window to sit on the bed. "Have you talked to Austria? Are they expecting it to be a fucking blizzard?"

Denmark stretched and turned away from the window. "Haven't seen him _or_ America. We went to breakfast and managed to walk around a little before things got too slippery, but really, we haven't seen anybody yet."

"Kesesese! They're probably hung over just like you." Prussia sat next to Romano and poked him. The brunet didn't react.

"Well, we might as well go get some lunch," Denmark decided. "Especially if there might be supply truck issues due to the snow."

"Yes!" Prussia jumped up, pulling Romano off the bed. "Don't want to get stuck without breakfast like last time."

"Idiot. You said you already had breakfast." Romano jerked his arm away from him.

"Breakfast, lunch, whatever. Let's go eat."

…

In the large hotel dining room, a few other nations sat listlessly picking at lunches. Nobody seemed too upset about the snow. The three friends sat and ordered, Romano doing his best to find a non-potato item on the menu. He ended up with tomato soup, which made him a little nervous, but when it arrived it was all right.

They also ate in relative silence. Then Prussia stood up and yelled, "Hey! Anybody seen Austria today?"

Lithuania, Canada, Japan and Turkey all shook their heads; Greece failed to awaken for the question.

"Let's go look for him," Denmark decided. "Not much else we can do, and he ought to know about this. Do you know what room he's in?"

"No. I do know he tends to stay on the top floor, though."

As they left the restaurant Turkey called out, "Hey, the elevator is broken!"

"Again?" Romano asked. "Thanks, bastard." They waved to the masked nation and left.

"Kesesese!" Prussia's eyes grew almost impossibly wide.

"What now, dammit?"

"I bet I know where Austria is!"

Denmark's eyes widened too. "In the elevator?"

"Ha ha, betcha, I bet he's stuck in the elevator with America!"

"Dammit, they'd better not be – be – dammit."

Both his friends started laughing at him. "Austria wouldn't do that in an elevator."

"Bet America would, though." Den got an evil look in his eye. "Let's go bang on the elevator doors and interrupt them."

"I'm telling you, you Nordic idiot, they won't be doing anything in there!" But Prussia and Romano followed Denmark to the elevator doors.

"Hey! Open up!" Prussia yelled, getting into the spirit of the thing. Denmark kicked the door a few times. Romano stood behind them, rolling his eyes, wondering how the hell he'd gotten roped into this.

Prussia put his ear to the door. "I don't hear anything."

"Cheh. Maybe the elevator is trapped on another floor."

"Oh! Right! Awesome, now we have to run up the steps to the next one, and the next one, and bang on _all_ of them. Come on." He grabbed Romano's hand again and they all ran up the stairs to the first floor, where Romano yanked his hand away from Prussia.

"Yoo-hoo," Denmark called out sweetly, tapping on the elevator door. "Are you in there, lovebirds?"

"Kesesese!" Prussia kicked the door. "No making out in the elevator!"

"Will you two focus?" Romano hissed. "We're supposed to be finding them so we can talk to Austria about the fucking snow!" He kicked the door, too, angry, and when Prussia put his ear to the door and announced that he couldn't hear anything, he kicked it again.

"Upstairs, my friends," Denmark laughed, and they trotted up another flight of steps.

"Helloooo?" Prussia banged on the door immediately and put his ear to the door. Latvia emerged from his hotel room, took one look at the three of them, and fled down the stairwell, which distracted all three of them and made them burst into laughter.

"Ah, bastards, why the hell are we looking for Austria anyway? Just let him and America do their thing. Come on."

"But there's nothing else to do, Romano! This hotel is even worse than the Seattle one. And if Austria was right – and all the booze is gone –"

"Dammit."

"Sourpuss." Prussia poked him again.

"Stop poking me, bastard. What if there's so much snow that England can't get here?"

Both his friends got very affectionate looks on their faces, but Romano didn't see. "Aw."

The brunet turned away. "Shut up, Teutonic fucking Albino. Forget I said anything." Wisely, Den refrained from comment, but ruffled Romano's hair; he fixed it without looking up.

"Arthur will awesomely get here, my friend. He's no stranger to snow either."

"Maybe he'll use it as an excuse to skip the meeting." Denmark started laughing.

"Chigi! Shut up, both of you." Confused, Romano walked away and up the stairs by default; within a minute the other two followed. "Why the hell are you following me?"

"Don't be stupid, Romano. We still have to bang on the elevator door on the next floor. It's the last one, though, so if they don't answer, then I guess they're not really in there. Which would suck. I'd love to give poor Austria a lot of grief about this."

Before banging on the elevator door Denmark put his ear to it. "I think I hear something," he whispered.

All three of them crowded to the door to try and listen. A hushed silence fell. _"What are you doing to the elevator?"_ Austria yelled, behind them. They all jumped and turned to see the host nation standing with Switzerland in the hallway.

"Uh – uh – " Romano couldn't think of anything to say.

Luckily, this was never a problem for Prussia. "You're not in the elevator!" he announced, while Denmark stood sheepishly grinning at the new arrivals.

"You know, Prussia, I have always admired your grasp of the obvious." Austria's sneering tone dripped with sarcasm. "What exactly are you three up to?"

"The elevator is broken, kesesese!"

"I _know_ that _._ "

"And we thought you were in it."

"With America," Denmark added, waggling his eyebrows for good measure. Romano simply stood in silence, his face burning. He felt like an idiot.

"America is not feeling well. He is sleeping off his hangover."

"Kesesese!"

But Austria had not finished speaking. "If you thought we were in the elevator, why exactly were you listening at the – _Prussia!_ " Austria grabbed him, but the albino was doubled over in laughter. "You have the filthiest mind of any nation, ever."

"You got that right," Romano muttered.

"All three of you!" Austria then hollered at them, making Romano jump and then blush again.

Denmark started laughing. "Ah, get over it," he suggested to Austria. "But the elevator does need to be fixed."

"I do know. It should have been fixed by now. Switzerland and I were coming out to test it."

"Oh! We didn't even think of that. Push the button, Romano," Prussia directed, since Romano was closest to the panel.

Romano obediently pushed the button. The five nations stood back as the elevator doors slid open…

…revealing a disheveled Iceland and Liechtenstein, the former grinning a near-Prussia-quality grin, and the latter staring at the floor, face redder than even Romano's, but with a tiny, tiny smile on her face.

"Sorry, wrong elevator," Denmark yelped, grabbing both his friends by the arms and running down the stairway.


	79. Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 3

**Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 3.**

Halfway down the stairs the three friends heard a shot. "No! This is unawesome. We can't leave poor Iceland up there alone. Come on." Prussia turned on the stairs and started to run back up.

"Wait, wait!" Denmark yelled, following him.

But Romano continued downstairs at a high rate of speed.

When he reached the bottom, he stopped to think about his brave friends, running into a skirmish, and reluctantly decided to go back up. He was also burning with curiosity. Had Swissy actually shot Iceland? What would happen if he had? Romano went very slowly upstairs, half his mind trying to talk him into turning around and running back downstairs, but he braved it out.

Eventually he reached the top floor. He very nervously peeked out the tiny window in the stairwell door, to see that an irate Switzerland had shot not Iceland, but the elevator button panel. He still had the pistol in his hand, although it was hanging limply at his side as Liechtenstein explained something to him. Prussia, Denmark and Austria had retreated discreetly down the hallway, but were keeping an eye on the brother and sister. Iceland stood to the side.

Romano took a hesitant step out of the stairwell. What if his movement caught Swissy's eye? What if – no, he had to man up. His friends wouldn't let anything bad happen to him. He stepped into the scene.

Nobody but Prussia reacted, and all he did was raise his eyebrows and smile brightly across the room. Romano wasn't near enough to hear what Liechtenstein was saying, but now Switzerland had holstered his gun. Iceland kept smiling, although he didn't look quite as manic as he had when the elevator doors had opened.

In another minute, Liechtenstein met her brother's eyes. He gave a curt nod and she walked over to stand with Iceland, who directed his smile towards Switzerland. The Alpine nation ignored this and began to walk haughtily towards his friend Austria, and then suddenly spun, drawing his pistol again, and shot the elevator doors in anger. "Switzerland!" Austria yelled, running to grab his arm. "Stop shooting up my hotel!" Iceland and Liechtenstein pushed past Romano and fled down the steps.

Switzerland took a deep breath. "Excuse me. I think I need to be alone for a while." He stalked off, presumably to his hotel room, but Austria ran after him, leaving the three friends alone in the hallway.

"Well, this sucks," Denmark said cheerfully. "Just as they get the elevator fixed, Swissy destroys it." He clapped Prussia on the back. "Not a real problem, though. We can all use the exercise, and now that we know it's broken, we know there won't be any – any –"

"Shenanigans?" Prussia laughed.

"Yeah, shenanigans going on in the elevator," Den finished. "You won't have to spend all your free time peeking to see who's in there. Come on, you two. Let's go out and play in the snow."

"Lot of drama considering the meetings haven't even started yet," Romano tried to say nonchalantly.

Both Prussia and Denmark grinned and hugged him, and the brunet allowed it. "Kesesese! You were so brave, Romano. I'm proud of you. It was awesome."

"Cheh. Shut up. Come on." He grabbed them by the wrists, fighting a smile, and pulled them into the stairwell.

At the ground floor Liechtenstein and Iceland were waiting inside the door. "Thank you," the girl said. "It was nice of you to try to stop my _Bruder's_ anger."

"No problem." Denmark shook his head. "Nobody likes to get shot. Come on, we're all going to play in the snow."

But when they all got outside there was no more snow. "What the hell?" Prussia scratched his head.

"It all melted," they heard behind them. Greece, moping, stared out at the wet and snowless landscape dejectedly. "It's such a shame. I love the snow." He turned and slouched back into the hotel.

"Well, at least now we don't have to worry about being cooped up all day. Let's go, my awesome brothers, and see what there is to do in Salzburg."

"Something that doesn't involve drinking," Romano demanded. Denmark ruffled his hair.

As they walked away, they heard Liechtenstein ask her friend, "Denmark and Romano are Prussia's _brothers_?"

"I have no idea," Iceland replied.

…

After an exhausting day sightseeing outside the city – because they were saving city sights for meeting nights, when they wouldn't have a lot of time – and a delicious, not-too-potatoey dinner, Romano decided to head to bed. It was already dark out, and he was still a little crabby from yesterday's hangover.

Prussia and Denmark walked to his door with him. "Cool day, guys. Thanks," Prussia grinned. "And nobody got shot!"

"That was the best part, bastard. Right, well, I'll see you at the meetings tomorrow."

"Arthur's getting here tomorrow sometime?"

"Cheh, yes, he said he'd get here before the meetings started, but I have no idea when."

"Whatever. We'll see you at breakfast, probably." Denmark hugged him and walked off with Prussia.

Romano was so tired he didn't even turn the lights on. He walked into the room, kicked off his shoes, dropped his coat, and collapsed on the bed. "Aah!" someone yelled.

"What the fuck?" Romano, now fully awake, leaped off the bed and fumbled for the light switch. Had he come into the wrong room?

When his night vision cleared, he looked at the bed and scowled. "Bastard, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, git. I had the chance for an early flight so I took it. Thought maybe you'd be happy to see me, but…apparently not. Wanker." England rolled over and pushed his face into the pillow.

Romano flipped the switch and stood until his vision settled down again. "Don't be stupid. I would have been a lot happier if I hadn't discovered you by landing on top of you. You nearly gave me a fucking heart attack."

"Grow up. Are you drunk?"

"No! I'm just exhausted." Romano sat on the bed. "It's been a rough day." He explained about the previous night's drinking, and the elevator dramas.

"Aw. Poor baby. Come closer and let big strong England give you a hug."

Romano smirked in the dark. "You sound like an idiot when you talk like that." But he did come closer, and let England give him a hug.


	80. Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 4

**Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 4.**

When Prussia and Denmark came into the meeting room and looked around, the only other nations present were a groaning America, who ignored them, and a sleeping Greece. The two friends grabbed some coffee and napkins from the laden sideboard and searched for their places at the main conference table. "Here's yours, Prussia. Oh, good. Austria put me right next to you. What a sweetie."

"Kesesese. Where's Romano? Next to you?" Prussia was nearer the high end of the table. "West is next to me." He checked the card on the other side of Germany's. "No surprise, Veneziano is next to West, at the head of the table."

Denmark checked the card. "France is next to me."

"That's cool. Wonder where Romano's sitting?"

They sat and Prussia noticed a little gift-wrapped package at his seat. "What the hell? Den, did you get me a present?"

"No." He picked it up and shook it. "Huh. Doesn't make any noise."

"Should I open it? What if it's some embarrassing gag gift?" Prussia looked very concerned. "Or something dangerous?"

"In that case it would be better to open it now, before everyone else gets here." Denmark sipped some coffee. "Hey, America, did you see who put this package here?"

"Nh, no," the blond groaned, head in hands.

"What's the matter with _you_?"

"I drank too much last night. I should have known dating Austria was a bad move."

He _was_ sitting far away from Austria's seat. Prussia and Denmark locked eyes and raised their eyebrows, but before they could ask him anything else, people began filtering into the room. "Wonder what happened," the albino whispered.

"Beats me. Open the present. I'll check to see who's watching. Then we can figure out who gave it to you."

Prussia began unwrapping the package. Denmark watched the still-nervous Latvia, then Switzerland and Liechtenstein, walk into the room; beyond them he could see Romano's hair curl and a shock of blond that was presumably England. He didn't bother pointing them out to Prussia, who was eagerly ripping off the last pieces of wrapping paper. England and Romano entered the room just as he finished. "Wah! _Romano!_ Romano, I love you!" he crowed, jumping out of his chair, crawling over the conference table towards his friend, knocking over place cards and coffee cups in his haste.

Romano spun and pelted out of the room, yelling "Chigi!" as he ran. All the other nations stood and stared at the doorway as Prussia chased him away.

"What the fuck?" Denmark, mopping up spilled coffee, asked the bewildered England.

"Don't ask me. I've no bloody idea. How are you?"

"Yeah, we're fine – I think. Depends what happens when those two come back in the room."

"Want some more coffee? I'm going to get some tea."

"Yes, please." Denmark handed over his mug and England headed to the side table, lining up behind other hungry nations, fetching a cup of coffee for Romano while he was at it.

By the time he got back with the three drinks and some more napkins, both Prussia (cackling joyously) and Romano (snarling at the ground) had re-entered the room. Romano was flushed and his hair disheveled, but Prussia appeared as pristine as if he'd just stepped out of a bandbox, with one arm wrapped around his friend's shoulders. "What the hell are you two doing?" Denmark grumbled, drinking the new coffee.

Romano slipped into a chair next to England, still not meeting anyone's eyes, and Prussia bounded over to sit next to Denmark, flourishing something. "It's the _Colosseum spoon_! Romano got it for me! And it's another rare sterling silver one, too. I do love you, Romano, and now I know you really do love me." He sighed with a starry-eyed expression on his face, blowing a kiss to his intensely-embarrassed friend.

"Shut the fuck up about it, bastard, or I'll never do anything nice for you ever again."

"Kesesese."

England silently pushed the coffee mug towards Romano. "Thanks." He drank all the coffee without looking up. "This coffee sucks…get me some more." He pushed the cup back towards the island nation, who sighed and went back to the coffee urn for him.

Denmark poked Romano across the table. "Looks like this is going to be another thrilling meeting. Full of drama."

Nobody answered him; England returned with the new coffee, which Romano sipped more leisurely. Soon Austria came into the room, reminding Denmark of America's strange comment earlier. "Uh," he whispered, beckoning them closer.

The other three leaned forward to catch his whispered commentary. "Something's wrong between Austria and America. But we don't know what. America said dating Austria was a bad idea."

"Let's figure out why," Prussia laughed, kissing his spoon before buttoning it into his jacket pocket; Romano rolled his eyes at that. "Something to do when the meeting gets boring."

"Attention, everyone!" Austria called out. "Please finish getting breakfast and sit down; we'd like to keep the meeting on target today."

A chorus of halfhearted murmurs acknowledged this. Nations sat with coffee, or plates of food, and Austria began the meeting.

…

The end of the day brought the usual bickering to an end. Prussia was the only nation in the room who seemed serene; even the happy-go-lucky Veneziano had yelled at Austria a few times, despite Germany's attempts to quiet him. America had continued to sulk all day, and despite their best efforts, the four friends (who'd actually spent more time working this out than focusing on the meeting) had not been able to guess what might have gone wrong between him and Austria.

But Austria didn't seem disturbed at all. In fact, England had pointed out in a whisper over catered lunch, he seemed perkier than usual. This was confusing. They made a pact to keep watching and report any unusual behavior.

"Well, are we doing anything, gits? Dinner, I guess."

"Dinner and drinking, Arthur. Don't forget the drinking."

"Wanker."

"Yeah, yeah, bastards, shut up and let's go." Romano grabbed England's arm and dragged him out of the meeting room. "We _are_ going out somewhere, right? Not eating in the fucking hotel dining room?"

"Look, it's not really a vacation if we sit around the hotel the whole time. Let's go look for someplace." Denmark looked around the hallway, and then quickly whispered, "You three go outside. I'll meet you out there in a few minutes." They all gave him funny looks, but he shooed them out the door, so they left. Through the double doors he could see Austria fidgeting with a little smile on his face. Den waited to see what was pleasing him so much.

Then Switzerland walked up to the host nation and smiled beautifully at him; Austria leaned forward and kissed Swissy on the cheek. Damn! Den nearly yelled aloud. So those two were on again, and America was out in the cold? He hurried outside before bursting into laughter.

"Well? What is it, dammit? What are you laughing about?" Romano punched him.

Denmark glanced around the area and saw America standing dejectedly by the taxi stand. "Tell you at dinner," he hissed, grabbing Prussia's hand. "Come on, let's move."

…

"I love Austrian food," Prussia sighed, sniffing the scented restaurant air. "So come on, Den, tell us what's going on. Something about America, right?"

Denmark nodded. "Yes. Well, Austria was practically beaming when the meeting broke up, and America wasn't, so I thought something funny might be going on. And so I stuck around to watch, and…you'll never guess what happened. Never, never, never, in a million years."

"Swissy and Austria are back together," Prussia and England chorused, and then broke into laughter.

Denmark's jaw dropped. "How the hell did you guess?"

Romano snorted. "Even I could have guessed that one, bastard. After all that elevator drama? Swissy was so mad, and Austria comforted him. Right?"

"Right," Prussia agreed. "Swissy and Austria will never seriously get involved with anybody else. They're too attached to each other."

"Aw." England got a fond little smile on his face and stared into the distance.

"Well, that sucks," Denmark pouted. "I really thought I had some interesting news for you."

The albino patted him on the shoulder. "Eh, you did a good job, Den. Nice detective work. Calm down and eat, have a beer, whatever."

"Yeah. Beer." He reached for his drink, and drank. "It's a good thing we had America's problems to distract us all day. Meetings are always so boring."

"It's not like we were actually paying attention to the fucking meeting, idiot." Romano turned to Prussia. "Why don't we skip the meeting tomorrow and go sightseeing?"

Prussia frowned at the same time that England backhanded Romano. "Not awesome, my friend. What about poor Denmark, and Arthur? They'll be stuck in the meetings all day!"

"Git," England agreed.

"Ah, you know what I mean, you all do. These meetings suck."

"Stop coming to them," Denmark suggested, finishing his beer.

"Maybe I will."

England snorted. "Might be better that way. At least then we wouldn't have to listen to you bitch all the time."

"Idiot. I'm a man. I don't bitch."

"Kesesese! You totally bitch all the time, Romano." Prussia nodded. "But I can deal with it because of my awesome new spoon." He blew Romano a kiss again; the half-nation turned red and scowled.

"Just shut up, Amenable Potato."

"Will you stop with that? I told you, no food stuff!" Prussia poked him and then swiped a bread roll off Romano's plate.

"Cheh. How the hell can I remember? You keep changing things."

"Any of you wankers going to tell me what you're talking about?" England finished his beer and motioned the waiter over. "Some bloody bet? Do I even want to know?"

"Trying to come up with another new name for Prussia," Denmark laughed. "Apparently neither Prussia, Teutonic Knights, Lucy, or Gilbert is good enough for him."

"The Albino Wanker."

Romano laughed. "Good one. What are your fucking rules about it, again? No food stuff and what else?"

"Nothing people will confuse with West! Remember? And nothing with 'boy.'"

"What does that mean?" England looked confused.

"Ha ha. Well, Romano was calling him things like Stupid Boy and Potato Boy. So Prussia said nothing with 'boy.'" Denmark ordered more beer for them.

"Albino Wanker still fits."

"Forget it, Arthur. And I also need a motto."

"A _motto_." England stared at his friend. "A motto for what?"

"To go with my new name! A superhero motto."

Romano groaned. "Look…figure it out on your own time. This discussion always makes my head hurt."

"Party poopers."

"Look, Teutonic Knights, forget about the motto. Let's talk about sightseeing, or whatever else we're going to do on this mini-vacation." Denmark finished his beer and waved for another one.

Romano tried the food; it was pretty good. "I did some work before we got here," he admitted. "A lot of the city stuff closes around six, so we can't do that until the weekend."

"Don't forget I'm not sticking around this weekend," England reminded them.

"Cheh, yes, we know, _wanker_ ," Romano said, making his friends laugh. "So my point was that we should look for things open late during the week."

"There's a casino. Open 'til three in the morning." Prussia busied himself eating _Sauerbraten_ and missed the excited looks on the faces of the other three.

"Yes!" Denmark yelled.

"No. Albino Man doesn't have any money."

"I'm almost willing to give the git some money if we can go to a casino." England pulled his wallet out.

"Put your money away, Arthur. West awesomely gave me a lot of money for this trip, because he knows I love Salzburg and he didn't want me to embarrass him in front of you guys by being cheap."

Denmark seemed nervous. "So you're going to gamble away all the money Germany gave you?"

"You really are a party pooper, Den. I'm going to _win_ a lot of money with the money he gave me! I'm going to make enough winnings that I'll have a ton of money for the summer vacation. This casino trip is like work, for me." Prussia beamed at all his friends. "So we're going?"

"We're going," Denmark and England chorused. "Eat," Den went on. "Hurry up."

"Kesesese!"


	81. Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 5

**Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 5.**

"I love gambling," Romano said, dragging England into the casino.

"Ow. We know, wanker."

"Come on, I need a drink, I want to play blackjack!" Prussia yelled. "I need to win all this money. I'm going to win enough to pay West back all the money he gave me."

"What, _ever_?" Denmark didn't seem convinced by this.

"Not all the money ever, no. Just what he gave me for this trip."

"Listen, gits, we can't play blackjack together."

"What? Why not?" Prussia pouted.

"Because if you _are_ going to win all this money, Gilbert, I don't want you to win by beating me. Play against some unsuspecting Austrian tourists."

"Oh. Yeah."

"Yeah, but you always beat Prussia at other stuff," Den pointed out. "Maybe you'll win all his money off him?"

"Right, and then I'll have to listen to him whinge about it all night, and then I'll end up giving it all back to him so Germany doesn't get steamed."

"Good point. Hey, we need to make a bet." Denmark clapped both Prussia and Romano on the shoulders.

"Dammit. We're in a casino, Den. Betting is all we're going to do."

"No, with each other, I mean. This is an easy one. Whoever wins the most money gambling tonight wins the bet."

"Cheh, fine. All right with you, albino potato?"

"Kesesese! Yes, because you all know it's going to be me. I'll take that bet. Arthur?"

"Nope. Not getting involved in your silly bets tonight. Er – well – what does the winner get?"

The friends all sought for a suitable prize. "Winner gets to choose where we go for our next vacation?" Prussia suggested.

England's striking eyebrows rose. "What the bloody hell are you talking about? You mean besides LA and your cruise? How many more vacations are you taking?"

"Uh. Forgot about the cruise. All right, forget that prize." The albino bit his lip thoughtfully.

"Make it an easy one. Winner gets to choose what we do tomorrow night." Denmark shrugged.

"No way, bastard. If Spoon Man wins, we'll just end up back here again all week. Losers each give the winner a thousand Euros."

"No _way!_ Romano, if I win all this money, I've got to give it to West, and I also intend to get you a little something for your sweet gesture about the Colosseum spoon." Prussia tickled him under the chin, and Romano smacked his hand away. "Damn it, I can't think of anything."

"Winner gets a t-shirt," England laughed, pointing to the casino's gift shop.

"Lame!" the other three yelled. Romano poked him for good measure.

"Look, let's go sit at the bar while we talk about it. I feel like an idiot standing around in the middle of the casino." Denmark pushed Prussia and England towards the bar.

"Yeah, fine." Romano trudged along behind them.

After they'd been seated with drinks, Prussia said, "There's a spa in town. Winner gets a trip to the spa?"

"Bastard, you can't be serious. I looked up that spa online last week, because I thought we might like to go there. There's fucking radon in the hot springs, and they advertise it as _healthy_!" Romano shuddered.

"You're joking." England looked appalled, and absently knocked back his Scotch.

"Not joking at all. Austria needs to get his head into the 21st century, dammit."

"What's the matter with radon?" Prussia asked.

"It's radioactive, potato brain." Denmark punched his boyfriend's shoulder. "It'll mutate you. They really advertise that it has radon?" he asked Romano.

"Yes, bastard, yes; go look it up online if you don't believe me. They even have a special spa package for expectant mothers."

"Wankers."

"And stop calling me Potato Brain, Den," Prussia pouted. "Well, what are we going to do about the bet? If we can't do the spa?" He finished his beer.

Denmark tugged at his own hair. "I don't know." He drank his drink. "Winner gets to choose the hotel for LA?"

"Dammit, I thought we already picked a place?"

"We did, we awesomely did; don't worry, that's not a good prize," Prussia reassured him. "How about winner gets to pick where we go for dinner tomorrow. Just dinner. That way even if I win we're not automatically forced into coming back here."

"Eh, that's good enough, I guess," Denmark said, finishing his drink. "And losers have to buy that dinner. All right with you, Romano?"

"All right with me, bastards." The three of them shook hands solemnly.

Romano stood. "Right. I'm going to start at the slot machines."

"Eh. Mind if I go off somewhere else? I hate the slots." England fidgeted a little.

"Go where you want, idiot. Just don't come crying to me if you run out of money." Romano patted his cheek with a snort and wandered off.

England stared after him in irritation. "Git." He stretched. "I'm going to check out the roulette table. All right? See you wankers later!" He headed in that direction.

"Going to play blackjack with me, Den?" Prussia beamed at him, batting his eyelashes. "Come on, cutie, come and play cards with the awesome me."

"I think England had a good point. I don't want you beating me at blackjack all night. I'll play, but at a different table."

"Fine. Come on."

…

England found a roulette table that wasn't too crowded. He decided to watch for a while, see if he could get a feel for how the wheel was trending tonight. There were only six people plus the croupier standing around the table; four of them were elegant in evening dress. The other two, elderly, wore matching track suits; they looked about eighty. The man had a walker and was stooped over it, peering at the roulette wheel nearsightedly, and the lady, leaning on a fancy titanium cane, shouted angrily and shook a palsied fist at the wheel every time the ball settled.

The island nation slipped into the space between the old lady and a middle-aged man in a tuxedo who also looked quite intent on the play. England didn't bet at first, just watched the croupier launch the ball. "Fifteen," he murmured to himself, just making a personal bet. The middle-aged man and the old lady started yelling at the wheel, which – to England's amazement – did, in fact, land on fifteen. He grinned and awarded himself a mental pat on the back.

"Ten on red," the lady barked, flinging a chip onto the table.

The man next to England turned and scowled at her. "Ten on _black,_ " he said haughtily.

The croupier spun the wheel. "Twenty-three," England murmured again. He must have spoken louder this time; the old lady flicked her gaze to him, but then quickly turned back to watch the wheel.

"Twenty-three," the croupier announced when the ball had come to rest on that black space. The middle-aged man smirked at the old lady, who gave him the kind of nasty look that only an irritated old lady can give.

Bets were placed and the wheel spun. "Thirteen," England breathed. Just to see if he could do it again.

"Thirteen!" the croupier announced.

"You should bet, _Jüngling_ ," the old lady told him. "I heard you get both of those right."

"Eh. I've got to watch the play a little more before I start betting." He smiled at her. "But thank you."

"Tell me what number to bet on," she wheezed.

He felt flustered. He'd just been pulling numbers out of his head as the wheel turned. "Er – seventeen?"

"Ten on seventeen!"

The wheel spun and, amazingly, the ball landed on seventeen. "You're a marvel!" The lady collected her winnings. "Going to play now?"

"Y-yes, I think I might," England answered with a smile. Why not? He seemed to be on a streak tonight.

"Then we're leaving. Come on, Hans," she said to the man with the walker. They moved off with their winnings. The surly man next to England hissed "Good riddance!" at their retreating backs. The blond wondered why. Maybe she'd won a lot, whereas this chap had been losing.

The croupier called for bets. England thought about this. He had a good feeling about thirty-two, so he bet a hundred Euros on it. A tiny part of his mind said "The law of averages is against you," but he ignored it and promptly lost a hundred Euros.

" _What?_ " He stared at the table.

"What do you mean, _what_?" the middle-aged man sneered. "Betting a hundred Euros is stupid."

England determined to make his money back and drew up a stool to sit for some long-term play.

…

Denmark settled in at a blackjack table. The crowd at this table didn't look too fearsome. There was about a fifty-fifty mix of old clients in sporty casualwear and middle-aged players in tuxes and tiaras. He supposed there were better things for the younger crowd to do in Salzburg. He'd ask Prussia or Romano to look some things up online.

Here he spent a moment thinking appreciatively about how good Romano was with research, compared to the absent-minded Prussia. This reminded him of the radon and he snorted. Someone would really have to tell Austria about that tomorrow. If he was still in a good mood about Swissy, it shouldn't be too dangerous to point it out.

The game started. To Denmark's left was a very old lady with a portable oxygen tank and a walker. Well… _she_ ought to be easy to beat. Denmark looked at the cards he'd been dealt and played.

Within two minutes he'd lost. The old lady cackled at him, but she had to stop periodically and draw oxygen in. "You're adorable," she told him, "but you can't play for beans! Ha ha!"

"Want to bet?" He gave her his most charming smile. "I'll make a little side bet with you. Twenty Euros says I beat your hand this time."

"Done!"

Denmark lost the game and the twenty Euros. The lady patted him on the arm and batted her eyelashes at him. "Don't worry about it, sweetie. Keep your Euros. I'm just excited to be sitting next to such a big, strong, handsome man tonight." He raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but because he was polite, he smiled down at her. The dealer dealt the cards; a waiter came around with a tray of drinks, and he took one and drank it.

This time Denmark won a modest sum, though it wasn't a net gain. "Ha!" the lady said. "I must be your good luck charm." She put a hand on his arm and shifted her chair closer to his.

"Uh," he said, shifting his chair further in the opposite direction. He looked wildly around for one of his friends – he did _not_ want to be cozying up to a dotty senior citizen all night! But…he also didn't want to leave the table until he'd at least made back what he'd lost so far. Including the twenty Euros he'd bet with the lady, even though he hadn't had to pay it out. It was a matter of principle.

When he won the next hand, the lady introduced herself. "I'm Walburga," she cooed, turning to face him. A waiter offered her a drink, and she took it; Denmark took another one also. Hell, he'd need it if this old lady kept flirting with him! He drank it very fast and put the empty glass back on the waiter's tray, turning back to focus on the game.

 _"Scheisse!"_ Denmark looked up at this shout of Prussia's and saw him at another blackjack table, scrubbing his hands through his white hair. Heh. Denmark was going to win their bet. No doubt about it.

…

After Prussia shouted, he sat down at the table again. He wasn't even looking at anyone. The other players at the table, and even the dealer, had commented on how albinos supposedly brought good luck. Apparently this was true...everyone else at his table had had very good luck. But Prussia had steadily lost every hand.

But he was not, absolutely _not_ going to quit, not now, no way. He had to win back the money! He had to win the bet with Den and Romano, and he also had to win a lot of money to pay West back. Damn it.

"Three cards, please," he told the dealer, and lost.

After five more games he'd lost more than half his vacation money. _Scheisse!_ West would _kill him._ Well, he'd go see how his friends were doing, and then he'd try to make some money back at the slots. If he could make it back to where he'd started, that would be a sign that he ought to go back and play some more blackjack. Maybe at a different table. Probably this was a bad-luck table.

Prussia stood at his blackjack table and scanned the room for either Den or Romano. Oh, that's right; Romano was at the slot machines; he wouldn't be easy to spot, because those machines were so big. Den – ah, there he was. Prussia watched him canoodling with a shriveled old specimen and decided not to go over there at all, though he did wonder just what the hell Denmark was thinking. Prussia then saw Arthur punching the roulette table angrily. He decided to walk over and see how his blond friend was doing with roulette. Maybe he could borrow some money, too.

"Kesesese! How are you doing, Arthur? Winning a lot of money?"

"Bloody hell, I just don't understand it. I'm guessing all the numbers right – when I don't place a bet! When I bet, I lose."

"That's awesome."

"Wanker."

"No, I meant…don't bet. Tell me what to bet. I need to win some money."

"What, so you can win that bet with Den and Romano? Are you mental? You know Romano will disembowel me if he finds out I helped you beat him in a bet."

"Please, Arthur?" Gilbert turned big, pleading crimson eyes on his friend. "I've lost so much money!"

"You're joking. I thought you were going to be some big shot winner tonight?"

"I was. I am! But I need to win back some money first."

Arthur sighed. "All right. Just once." He stepped back to make room for Gilbert at the table. "Bet on twenty-six." He refrained from betting.

Gilbert bet a mere five Euros on twenty-six. Just in case Arthur had been teasing him about guessing right. "Twenty-six!" the croupier called, paying out Gilbert's winnings.

"You are totally awesome, Arthur. I'll even let you be Lucy tonight if you want."

"Shut it, git. You sound like you're talking about some kinky sex play."

"Kesesese! What should I bet on now?"

Arthur closed his eyes and thought. "Ten."

Again cautious, Gilbert bet only five Euros. And won. "Arthur, I love you. I'm going to do a big fat bet this time, get all my money back that I lost, and then go play some more blackjack so I can win the money for West."

"Don't do it, Gilbert. I haven't been a hundred percent right, tonight. The law of averages is against you."

"Pfft. Not this time. What's the number?"

Arthur concentrated. "One."

"A hundred Euros on the awesome number one," Gilbert announced.

"A hundred Euros? Oh, Gilbert, that's bad luck, that is exactly how much I lost on my first bet," Arthur moaned, and Gilbert lost his hundred Euros.

"Damn it, Arthur! I hate you!" Gilbert smacked him in the skull and ran off, practically in tears.

Arthur sighed, rubbing his sore forehead. When he placed a five-Euro bet on the number one, he won.

…

One of the things Romano hated most about casinos was the entertainment. He'd been to casinos that had live shows, dancing girls, comedians, hip-hop artists and strobe lights flashing everywhere while Elvis and Marilyn impersonators strolled the floor, chatting up the customers. He _hated_ that shit. Luckily, this Austrian casino was kind of elegant, and didn't seem to have any of that flashy garbage going on. Even the music was elegant. Mozart, probably. Everything in Salzburg seemed to be all about Mozart. Well, it could be worse. It could be fucking _Beethoven._

He'd settled in at a slot machine, winning and losing modest amounts for a while. The circulating waiters kept him continually supplied with tomato juice – he didn't want to get bombed and lose all his money (and the bet) by being drunk and distracted, dammit. After a little while longer, he settled into a fairly serious streak of losing, and started to get worried. Maybe he should change to a different machine, for better luck? Probably this was a bad-luck machine. His head was starting to hurt and he wanted a drink.

Romano waved a waiter over and requested a Bloody Mary. When the man had headed to the bar, the Italian looked around to find a better machine and saw Conan the Barbarian walking around the room. "Fucking celebrity impersonators," he growled.

"Excuse me?" the Schwarzenegger said in astonishment. "Do you have a problem with me?" He loomed over Romano at the slot machine.

"Yeah, bastard, I have a problem with you. I have a problem with anybody who thinks it's at all sane to dress up like somebody else for a living."

"You little pipsqueak!" The impersonator cracked his knuckles.

Romano did indeed appear weak next to the beefy fake Arnold, but he didn't give a damn. He was getting crabby and wanted to go find England, but this impersonator was pissing him off. "Call me what you like, bastard. I can't help it I think your job is fucking lame." The waiter came back and gave him his drink; he drank it all at once. Ah, that was good. He asked for another.

"So what kind of a job do you think would be better, eh, little Italian pipsqueak?"

"Anything, you idiot!" Romano turned back to his losing-streak machine and put a token in, just for something to do while he argued with this stupid bastard. "Go clean toilets for a living."

"You're an _Arschloch_ ," the man snarled.

"Fucking potato bastard." Romano couldn't believe it. Even here in the middle of a crowded casino, potato bastards were able to find him and pester him. He'd bet nobody was pestering his friends this way.

"What did you call me?" the man yelled, his accent almost totally gone. He actually sounded more French than Austrian or German.

"You heard me, fucking barbarian." Romano finally remembered to stop the machine and lost. "Dammit."

"Serves you right," the man snickered, leaning on the slot machine to watch.

"Go away." Romano had another drink. The impersonator looked like he wanted to snatch a drink from the tray too, but he didn't.

"I can't go away, mister; this is my job, remember?"

"Go pester some old ladies or something, bastard. I'm busy." Romano put another token in. The faux Schwarzenegger watched as he pretended to calculate the best time to hit the stop button.

Just as he was about to press the button the impersonator said "Hey!" Romano missed the button and poked the side of the machine instead.

"Dammit! Can't you leave me alone?" He punched the button arbitrarily and won; a huge flood of tokens came sliding out of the machine all over the floor just as Prussia rounded the corner.

"Kesesese! Romano, you won so much money! That's great. Here, let me help you." Prussia absently shoved Conan out of the way; that man shrugged and went back to flexing his muscles and pacing the floor. Romano and Prussia scrambled to put all the winnings into a plastic bucket.

"Why are you over here? Win all your money yet?" Romano laughed; he was in a much better mood now that he'd won all this money and the stupid impersonator had gone away.

"Don't even talk to me about it. Arthur made me lose a hundred Euros!"

"What? How?"

Prussia explained.

Romano laughed. "It's your own fault, potato brain. You should know that kind of thing never works out in the long run." They got the last few tokens into the bucket. "Come on, let's go cash these in." They walked over to the cashier with the bucket.

"Uh…Romano…my so-awesome friend…"

"You want me to give you some money."

"Uh." Prussia flashed him a grin. "Yeah."

"Stupid. I tell you what, though; if you're still in the hole at the end of the night, I can probably spare fifty Euros from these winnings." The cashier handed Romano his money.

"Fifty? _Fifty?_ Romano, you just won eight hundred Euros! Why would you only give me fifty?" Prussia whined.

"Idiotic potato. Because I lost almost five hundred Euros in the fucking machine before I won this! I have to take home _some_ winnings, you know. Fifty Euros. Take it or leave it."

"Huh. I'll take it. Thanks."

"Guess you won't be doing any nice spoon-related paybacks, will you?" Romano shook his head.

"Aw. You know I want to."

"I know you want to, Amenable Loser. But come on, let's go find Den. I'm sick of gambling and that stupid French Schwarzenegger was a real jackass."

Before they found Denmark, England slouched over to them, hands in pockets. "Let me guess, Arthur, you lost all your money too?"

"Eh," was England's weak response. He pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and flapped it at them. "Won a little bit back at the end."

"Romano awesomely won eight hundred Euros at the slots," Prussia announced.

"Eh. Good for you, git."

"Bastard, just how much money did you lose? You're acting like you're at a funeral!"

"I don't want to talk about it. I need a drink, or I need to get out of here."

"Go get us some drinks. We'll go find Den."

"Righto." England moved off towards the bar, first stopping at the cashier to cash in his ticket.

Prussia and Romano looked around. "Hey, bastard, I need the men's room first. I'll meet you back here."

"No, that's a really good idea. I'll come with you."

Romano narrowed his eyes. They walked into the men's room together.

When they came out, Prussia was beaming, Romano rolling his eyes. England stood before them with a tray of drinks: a beer, a Scotch, and a Bloody Mary. "What the hell are you – oh. You finally saw Romano's underwear?"

"Well, no," Prussia admitted. "But he promised to show me later, kesesese."

"You two are really a couple of first-class wankers. Come on, let's go find Den."

"Leave us alone!" they heard from across the room.

"Uh-oh," Prussia whispered. They turned and spotted Denmark, with his old lady, arguing with the Schwarzenegger impersonator. Loudly. Right in the middle of the casino. "I saw that old lady with him before. Guess he can't shake her." Conan then tried to take Denmark's arm and pull him aside, but Den resisted. "Damage control," the albino blurted, and the three of them downed their drinks and ran over to him. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, what's going on here? Den, what are you yelling about?"

"Go away, bastard," Romano added, to the fake Arnold.

"This guy is a friend of yours?" The impersonator's accent had slid back into French again as he spoke with Romano.

"Yes, he is, wanker, why the bloody hell are you pestering him?" England stepped up to face the burly man. Romano and Prussia moved to flank Denmark, but the old lady wouldn't let go of Den's arm.

"This lady is a well-known con artist," Conan said.

"Con artist?" Romano shook his head. "You're an idiot. No wonder you can only make a living parading around in a Conan outfit. No brains."

But – "Con artist?" Denmark screeched. He yanked his arm away from Walburga.

The impersonator had flagged down a staff member and was talking to him in low tones, gesturing towards the old lady. She appeared to find this rather serious, and dropped Denmark's arm. "See you later, sweetie! Thanks for bringing me all that good luck! Gotta run!" Then Walburga ripped the oxygen tank out of her nose and mouth and legged it. Conan and the staff member sprinted after her.

The four friends stared after them. "Denmark. What the fuck? Did she fleece you, bastard?"

"No," he sighed, pushing a hand through his spiky hair. "She was just – uh – flirting with me?" His friends all laughed, and then he did too. "I lost a lot of money, and didn't get to drink too much, and I'm pissed as hell. How did you guys do?"

"I lost more than half my vacation money," Prussia admitted, sourly. "But Romano is giving me a little." He blew a kiss to Romano, who blushed.

"I lost a lot at roulette." England looked embarrassed to admit this.

"I won eight hundred Euros at the slots, bastard, but…before that, I lost five hundred. So it's only a net gain of three hundred."

Denmark sighed. "Are we done here?"

"Please," England groaned. "Get me out of here."

But Prussia was still looking around the room. "If I could only –"

"Gilbert, I'll give you some money, just – I'd like to leave now before things get worse."

"If you bastards want to stay here, I'll go back to the hotel with England."

Denmark put his arm around Prussia's shoulders. "Ah, come on, let's blow. The way things have been going, we're likely to just keep losing all night."

Prussia reluctantly admitted this was so. He took Denmark's hand and the four of them moved towards the doors; some people exited the gift shop in front of them. "Wait. You guys wait here. I'm going to buy a t-shirt for West. Maybe it will soften the blow." He slouched into the gift shop.

"Wait up, Gambling Man. I'll get something for my idiot brother, too. Maybe he and the potato bastard would like matching shirts."

"Kesesese."

Denmark and England waited in the lobby for their friends. "No more casinos," Denmark decided.

"At least Romano won a little money."

"I guess he won our bet, too."

England just nodded. Suddenly they heard a commotion inside the gift shop. "Man, what has Prussia done now?" They hurried over that way to see Prussia walking out of the gift shop, beaming, amidst a shower of falling confetti, blaring horns and applauding staff members and guests. Romano was barely noticeable, stomping along behind them all. "What the hell?"

"Kesesese! It's awesome! I was the one millionth customer to buy something in the gift shop, so I won 25,000 Euros!" He continued waving and grinning at the other casino patrons, shaking the hands of the staff members while camera flashes went off.

"I don't believe it," Denmark said to England, who nodded in agreement. The casino manager then presented Prussia with a magnum of champagne and a check.

The island nation then sidled up to Romano during the commotion. "Why are you so glum?"

"The bastard! He let me cut in front of him in line. Said he was doing it to be nice about the fucking _spoon._ If he hadn't done that, _I_ would have won the 25,000 Euros. Fucking albino _bastard!_ "


	82. Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 6

**Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 6.**

Over lunch the bickering was loud and spirited. "He said _gambling,_ albino potato. The bet was clearly 'who won the most at gambling.' That's what I agreed to. Not 'who walked out of the casino with the most money.'"

"Pfft, Romano, you can't seriously expect me to sit here and accept that? I won the most money, so I win the bet!" Prussia serenely drank some coffee. "Am I right, Den? Arthur? I'm right, aren't I?"

"You know…it was a stupid bet," Den answered.

England agreed. "You gamble too much, Denmark. Everybody thinks so."

"Everybody who?" Denmark was aghast.

"All the other Nordic nations are always talking about it," Prussia agreed. "Just the other day I heard Sweden babbling about it."

"That's ridiculous! Just because I go drinking with them all the time, and we sometimes make little bets…Besides, _Sweden_ doesn't babble."

"He was about this. He must have said three intelligible sentences in a row. Kesesese!"

"Ha. Must be a serious problem, then."

"Shut up, Romano."

The other three all laughed at the expression on Den's face. "Maybe you'd better just take a break from it, bastard."

"Let's just forget it, all right?" the Viking demanded.

Prussia smirked at him. "You didn't win, so you're just being sour. Been hanging around Arthur too much."

"Wanker. I wasn't part of your bet anyway. If you ask me, I believe Romano is correct; Denmark did say whoever won the most at gambling, and you all shook on it."

Romano gave England an appreciative smirk before poking the albino. "See, bastard? I get to choose the restaurant."

"No!" Denmark pounded a fist on the table. "Let's just call that whole bet off."

"Den. Why are you doing this to me? You want me to eat potato bastard food, don't you? Evil."

"Wait, wait, wait." Prussia pounded on the table. "Just where did you plan to choose, Romano? Almost every restaurant in town has German food, or Austrian variations on German food."

 _"Chigi!"_

"Don't worry about it," England said, patting his hand. "We'll find a place."

"Bastards. All of you."

…

During the afternoon session, England slipped a note to Romano. A piece of paper with "4,650 €" on it. "What the fuck?" Romano hissed.

The island nation made a flipping motion, so Romano flipped over the paper. "How much I won last night" was on the other side.

" _What?_ " Romano's yell interrupted the meeting, and the following silence was broken by only a tiny "kesesese" from across the table. "Uh. Sorry. Carry on," he said weakly, flapping a hand at Austria. He grabbed a pen and wrote something on the note.

"I thought you said you lost" England read. He wrote "I did lose…a little" before shoving the paper back at Romano and smirking.

But Prussia intercepted it and read it, flipping the paper over to read the number. "Iggy! You're joking!"

Austria pounded a fist on the table. "Prussia! Will you kindly shut your enormous mouth?"

No one heeded him. "Stop calling me Iggy!"

Denmark grabbed the paper and read both sides. "Damn! Good thing for us you didn't take that bet!"

By now the entire meeting was in an uproar, and Austria was furious. Switzerland pulled out a pistol loaded with blanks and shot it, quieting everyone instantly. "If you four can't focus, I'm going to have to separate you," Austria hissed at them. Prussia laughed at that, but the other three turned faux-contrite and folded their hands meekly in their laps. England grabbed the note back from Denmark and crushed it.

"Come on, Austria, this meeting is _soooo_ boring. Let's be done for the day?" Prussia blinked cutely at the host, who blushed and looked away. A chorus of supporting calls echoed Prussia's request.

"You always derail these meetings, Prussia. You shouldn't even be here! If you didn't come to them, they'd be a lot more productive." But Austria caved in. "All right. The meeting is adjourned for today. Please be here promptly at nine tomorrow; we have an important announcement."

"Uh-oh," both Romano and Denmark said, but Prussia wasn't listening.

…

"All right, bastard, spill. What the hell are you talking about? You said you lost a lot of money last night!" The friends had found a French restaurant and decided to eat there, considering it neutral dinner territory.

"I did. I lost a lot. And then I won a lot more. But you were all so depressed, I didn't want to crow about it. Also, I didn't want Gilbert pestering me to give him money."

"So let me get this straight." Denmark drank some wine. "We made a bet that whoever won the most money gambling won the bet. Prussia won the most, but it wasn't won by gambling. England won the most money gambling, but he wasn't part of the bet. And I had a net loss. So – Romano wins the bet. It's as simple as that."

"Thank you, Denmark," Romano told him in a calm and grown-up manner. Then he turned to Prussia and stuck his tongue out. "See, potato brain? I won!"

"Nuts," Prussia said, drinking his beer.

England poked him. "Eh, it doesn't really matter. How much did you lose, Den?"

"About two thousand Euros."

The island nation pulled out his wallet and forked over two thousand Euros.

"What the hell? Bastard, if you're handing out money, give me some!" Romano grabbed the arm holding the wallet.

"Git. You didn't lose any money last night. Denmark did."

"Thanks, England." Denmark put the money in his wallet. "I'll remember this."

Prussia sat with mouth agape. "I – I –"

"You didn't give him any, did you, Selfish Albino? Twenty-five thousand Euros and you didn't give any to your suffering boyfriend. Did you?" Romano smacked him in the arm.

"I – I –"

"Never mind about it, Teutonic Knights. What are we doing tonight?"

"Casino."

"Forget it!" the other three yelled.

"Fine. Whatever." The albino pouted for ten seconds and then cheered up. "Let's ride a carriage around the city for a while. Maybe we'll find something fun to do."

"Good enough," Denmark shrugged, and his friends agreed.

…

"Are you _insane?_ " Romano yelled the next morning. Most of the other nations in the meeting room seemed to be in agreement with this, although Prussia sat giving Denmark a contemplative look. England had his hands over his face and Japan looked like a deer in headlights.

"Do not argue, Romano," Austria sniffed. "Everyone is expected to participate."

Romano sat down and punched the table. A fucking _talent show_? "Dammit!"

"Ve, Romano, calm down! You can sing for us!"

" _Chigi!"_

"Bloody hell," England agreed under his breath.

"I have a brilliant idea," Prussia told them. "I'll tell you over dinner. Then we have all day Thursday to prepare for it."

"I always worry about your brilliant ideas, potato brain."

"No, no, it's an awesome idea."

" _Right_."

Nobody in the room paid much attention to Austria after the mandatory talent show announcement. This would be held Thursday evening in the hotel bar. Privately almost everyone thought Austria had, in fact gone insane. America was the only nation who seemed even vaguely interested.

"I wonder if he's going to do some fancy talent thing to win Austria back," Denmark considered. "Maybe a love song or something."

"That git can't sing."

But Prussia defended him. "America can awesomely sing, Arthur. You're just jealous."

"Shut it, wanker," England said listlessly. "Let's just get through this bloody meeting and then talk about the talent show."

…

Romano had found a little Italian place for the bet dinner. "It's impossible, I tell you." Prussia poked him. "The one Italian restaurant in town, and you unearth it."

"It's like pasta radar," Denmark laughed. "I hope it's good."

"I hope it's good, too, bastard." The three of them had ordered and were waiting for their meals. England had chosen to stay at the hotel and look up some ideas for talent competitions; he was just too depressed about the whole thing. "I'm always a little bit nervous about Italian food served in foreign countries."

"We'll see."

"So, Prussia, what was this idea you had for the talent show?" Denmark poked him.

"I was thinking the four of us could be Lucy and Ethel and Ricky and Fred and do a skit."

"Forget it, Lucy bastard. I know you want me to be Ricky, and I refuse."

"Den could be Ricky. That would actually be funnier."

"Forget it, I said." Romano drank some wine. "Maybe you bastards should do one of your rock songs."

"Theoretically a good idea, but we don't have our instruments!" Prussia ruffled Romano's hair, and the brunet slapped his hand away before fixing it.

"Well, then, what?"

"Maybe I should do something by myself," Denmark thought. "I could do a poetry reading or something. We have an amazing tradition of epic poetry."

Romano groaned and put his head in his hands. "Do not read that stupid Beowulf, please."

"Beowulf's not Danish! It's English," Prussia informed him. "It's _about_ a Dane, but it's not Danish."

"Whatever, smartass. Just don't read it."

"You'd better make sure Arthur doesn't think of reading it, kesesese."

"He won't! I won't let him."

Prussia poured himself some more wine. "Frankly, Den my dear, I'm surprised you haven't suggested we place a bet on whose talent thing will be best."

"Good point," Romano agreed.

"No. If people really think I've got a gambling problem, I'm going to lay off the betting for a while." Denmark put on a sophisticated, aloof expression, which made both the others dissolve into unmanly giggles.

"Too bad. I had a great idea for a bet," Romano then told him, wiping tears from his eyes. Den narrowed his eyes, but did not speak.

"Ooh. What was the awesome bet idea?" Prussia took Romano's hand and squeezed it where it lay on the table.

Romano jerked his hand away. "Dammit. Stop holding my fucking hand. I thought we could each do our own talent thing…not in a group, you know, and whoever got the best score won the bet, and whoever lost the bet would have to pay England back his two thousand Euros." He drank some wine, not meeting anyone's eyes.

"That's such a stupid bet," Denmark said. "He wouldn't take the money from me, and he wouldn't take the money from you either. Which means the only way this bet would be any good is if Prussia lost and paid England back."

"Which he should do anyway," Romano pointed out.

Prussia began to grumble. "All right _,_ all _right,_ I'll pay Arthur back his two thousand Euros. _Scheisse_ , you two are like my old grandmother."

"Uh – Prussia? Do you even _have_ a grandmother?" Denmark asked hesitantly.

"You know what I mean!"

Each of the nations fumed in silence for a little while, until the waiter brought the dessert menu. "Kesesese! Hey, they have that stuff you made us last summer. The stuff Arthur helped you cook?"

"Zabaglione, bastard. You can see it right on the stupid menu."

"Whatever." Prussia waved a hand. "Order it for me. I'm not too good with Italian pronunciation."

"Yes, all right. Den?"

"I can order my own dessert!"

Dessert passed in a fairly strained fashion as well. "Well, this was thrilling," Denmark finally said. "Good thing I'm hanging out with you two. It's nice and peaceful." He smirked.

"Well, if you were hanging out with Sweden he'd probably be lecturing you about your betting habits, so…it really is a good thing you're hanging out with the awesome us. Right?"

Romano snorted and Denmark put his head in his hands.

…

"Hey, bastard, did you come up with any ideas?"

A loud snore was the only response as Romano walked into the hotel room. England lay face-down on the bed, fully-dressed, his laptop open to a web page about Beowulf. "Dammit! Wake up, you stupid idiot. Wake up!" Romano shook him awake.

"What? What? Is the bloody hotel on fire?"

"Why the fuck are you sleeping? And you are absolutely _not_ going to read Beowulf for a talent competition."

"What?" England sat up and rubbed his eyes sleepily. "What time is it?"

"It's only nine o'clock! Bastard, why are you sleeping? I realize you're the snooziest guy in the world, but this is insane."

"Eh, I fell asleep trying to come up with sodding talent show ideas. The only thing I could think of was a poetry reading. I'm thinking of doing Beowulf."

"No fucking way. Those bastards would never stop laughing."

"What are you talking about, git? Beowulf is outstanding epic poetry."

Romano explained why he didn't want to hear a reading of that outstanding epic poem.

"Oh. Well, all right."

"But what are we going to do?" Romano flopped down on the bed and pushed his face into the pillow. "We didn't even come up with anything at dinner, except the albino potato wanted us to do a Lucy skit."

England smiled and his eyes lit up. "That's brilliant! You can –"

"Don't even say it, stupid. Don't."

"Why not? It'd be funny. Though it would actually be better if Denmark was Ricky."

"Dammit! I feel like I'm living in a fucking echo chamber! You're just repeating everything that we said at dinner."

"Fine, wanker. I'll shut up." England went back to the laptop.

After a minute he hesitantly said, "Want to sing with me?"

"No. I don't even want to do this."

"Maybe we could call in sick."

"Bastard. You don't think every nation in this hotel is thinking that exact same thing? If we all call in sick we're going to look like a bunch of childish morons."

"I'm almost willing to do it, if it gets me out of singing."

"Who said anything about singing? Anyway, you're a good singer. I suggested you guys do some rock and roll thing, but Prussia reminded me you don't have your instruments."

"Aha!"

"Aha what?"

"What room are they in?"

"Seven-ten, I think. Why?"

England grabbed him by the wrist. "Come on, let's go talk to them."

…

"That's not a bad idea, England." Denmark clapped him on the back. Prussia and Romano were both sitting on the bed, considering this new plan. "Good thing we have the afternoon to prepare."

"Oh! By the way, Arthur, here are your two thousand Euros back." Prussia pulled money from his wallet and handed it to England, who shrugged.

"Ta. Well? Are we going to do it?"

"You know me, I awesomely love to show off, no matter what we do. I'm in."

"Sure, I'll do it," Denmark added. "We'll need to get busy in the shops tomorrow."

Everyone looked at Romano. They were surprised not to see a scowl on his face.

"Cheh, yeah, all right. Let's talk about it more over breakfast."

"Sounds like a plan! Kesesese!"


	83. Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 7

**Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 7.**

"Kesesese! Spain and France are going to be so awesomely impressed with me. Oh – I gave Austria some cash. He's going to get the equipment we need, make sure it's set up and working. I gave him a little extra to let us be last on the performance list," Prussia told them, as they headed for the shops that afternoon to find their gear.

"Great idea, Amenable Man. Maybe there's something other than potatoes in that head of yours after all." Romano punched him fondly on the shoulder. "If everybody's drunk by then, maybe it won't be so bad."

Denmark, who had been optimistic all morning, now seemed a bit glum. "I hope we can find some of this stuff."

Prussia put his arm around him. "Don't worry your awesome little spiky-haired head about it, sweetie. If we can't find it ready-made, we can cobble some stuff together from fabric stores or whatever." Den nodded.

"So how much did you pay Austria, bastard?"

"Couple thousand Euros. No sweat off my back, and he was happy to get it. We can always go back to the casino and gamble some more."

"No, we can't!" the other three yelled.

"No gambling, albino potato."

"No casino," Denmark added firmly.

To defuse tension, England pointed out a shop that might have some of the things they needed. The four friends went in.

…

Half an hour later they all came out laughing, even Romano. "This actually might be fun, bastards."

England pinched his cheek. "Of course it will be fun. Just loosen up a little."

"Hey, there's a drugstore, we can get the makeup we need." Denmark held the door for his friends.

"Listen," Romano hissed, pulling England aside, "I don't know anything about makeup and shit! Can you help me?"

"You are just the cutest little thing," said Prussia, who'd overheard, tapping him on the head. "We can all awesomely help you. Come on."

Laden with bags of makeup and heavy-duty cleanser, they left the drugstore an hour later.

…

" _Bloody hell!_ " England stood in front of a shop window, jaw dropped. "Hey! Hey, I'm changing my outfit to this one. Look! Bloody hell, who would have thought?" He dragged Romano into the shop; Prussia and Denmark looked in the window and laughed.

"Awesome, Arthur, but you need the right accessories."

"I know, I know, git. Don't worry." He rushed up to the clerk, spoke hastily, and a few moments later walked out of the dressing room in the outfit he'd seen in the window.

"Bastard, ahem, that…actually looks really… _really_ good on you," Romano said, blushing furiously, surreptitiously checking for a nosebleed.

Prussia was blushing, too. "Arthur…I…had no idea."

"Hands off him, Lucy." Romano shoved Prussia aside.

"Wankers. So you think I should do it?"

Denmark nodded appreciatively. "Yeah, do it. It makes a better statement this way. Bolder. Make sure you get the right boots."

"Oh, yes. Boots." The clerk helped him with the purchase of boots and outfit.

"Wear that outfit for me tonight," Romano whispered to him as they left the shop.

…

"Right, so all we need now is wigs. Let's go. I do happen to know where there's an awesome wig store in Salzburg."

"Why doesn't that surprise me," Romano sighed, but they did need the wigs. Prussia led them away.

Denmark looked through his wallet as they walked. "Damn, I'm almost out of money again."

"Good entertainment isn't cheap, my friend. But I'll give you some more money. I have a lot of money, now, you know."

"Did you ever pay the potato bastard back?"

Prussia nodded. "Yes, yes, that was the very first thing I did. He was surprised."

"No kidding. I'm guessing he was pretty happy, too." Romano could just imagine how Germany would have reacted to his broke brother pressing a big wad of cash into his hand.

"Yep! Awesomely happy. Took your brother out to a fancy dinner to celebrate."

"Chigi!"

…

"Let's just get all the stuff ready in our room," Denmark suggested later, as they headed to the hotel laden with purchases. "We can run up and throw it on before we go on stage."

"Good enough for me, wanker. We just need to allow a little makeup time."

"This is going to be so – much – fun. Even more fun than singing in Seattle! This is going to be the best memory of this vacation! Best memory of the entire _year!_ I wish we could have it filmed."

"Too bad we didn't make a bet," Denmark said automatically, and scowled when the other three gave him dirty looks. "All right, all right, sorry. That was just a reflex comment. But damn, I'm glad I found this outfit. It's perfect!"

"It's so you," Prussia agreed. "No other nation in the world could pull that off."

Romano thought about this. "Maybe Russia?"

"Nah. He's got the stature, but not the panache."

"Prussia! You think I've got panache?" Denmark laughed and blew him a kiss. "You're so sweet."

"You've got it all, Den."

Inside the room the four nations eagerly spread out their purchases. "I need to get busy on this," Prussia realized. "Anybody want to help?"

Romano threw his bags on the bed. "Yeah, I'll help. I just have to pin some necklaces and shit on the clothes and boots, which won't take long."

"I don't have much to do either, so I'll help." England hugged Prussia affectionately. "Thanks for the loan. I'll pay you back when I get back to my room." He'd spent a lot of money today, but hadn't been carrying all his cash with him.

"Aw, Arthur. Consider it a gift. You know I have a lot of money now."

"Better be careful, Prussia," Denmark said absently, looking at all his accoutrements spread out on one bed. "You'll spend it all and be broke again."

"Not me. That wouldn't be awesome. I'm going to invest it and make money to spend in LA."

"Good luck with that." England was already busy with the help Prussia needed, and sounded a little out of breath.

"Okay, let's get to work. Kesesese!"

…

All the nations had congregated in the hotel bar for the contest, drinks in hand. Austria stood up to open the show.

"As you know, everyone is expected to participate. Switzerland, Estonia, China and I will be the judges. Do your best, everyone!"

As he walked back to the judging table Prussia grabbed his sleeve and hissed, "Did you get the stuff I asked for?"

"Yes, yes. Leave me alone, Prussia! Just watch the show!"

The first act was the four other Nordic nations, who did an "I Love Lucy" skit. "Dammit. Good thing we _didn't_ do that."

"Shut up, Romano," Denmark hissed. "I want to hear this!"

They were moderately funny, especially Sweden, who, surprisingly, had taken the role of Ricky. When they'd finished their little skit, the nations in the room applauded politely.

…

An hour later, after some half-assed performances, America took the stage. He looked really good in a tuxedo with a red, white and blue bowtie. "This song – this song is for Austria," he announced, blushing a little. He adjusted his glasses and began singing an _a cappella_ version of Adele's "I'll Be Waiting."

Denmark nudged Prussia. "Told you."

"Kesesese, yes, yes, all right."

Austria blushed deeply and stared at the stage as America sang. Switzerland was frowning, but America sang so well that Austria stood up and applauded ferociously when the song was over, even though nobody else showed that much enthusiasm. The host hurriedly sat back down, reddened face to the table, and scribbled something on a piece of paper.

America looked pretty pleased with himself. "I hope it works for him," England hissed to Romano, who nodded.

…

Liechtenstein and Poland, both in leopard print dresses, took the stage together, surprising everyone. "What the hell?" Denmark asked.

"We don't have time to stick around and watch, though!" Prussia warned them. "There are only two other acts before we go on. Come on, we have to go get dressed." The four of them slipped out of the room as the two nations on stage began a little comedy routine together.

…

They were all prepared, waiting in the wings. "Machine all ready?" Denmark asked, making sure his headdress wasn't getting crushed against the ceiling.

"Yes, it's awesomely ready." Everyone was standing far away from Prussia.

England flipped the long hair of his wig and struck a dramatic pose. "Oh. Hang on, Romano. You need some adjusting." He fiddled with Romano's wig. No matter how they'd tried – with hair spray, clips, and gel – they couldn't get Romano's hair curl to stay under the wig (England was the only one he'd allowed to touch it), so it now stuck out, making a dark contrast against the wavy blond locks. "Sorry."

"Cheh, forget it. Thanks for trying." He squeezed England's hand; the island nation beamed at him.

Austria stuck his head through the makeshift stage curtains. "All right, you four, this had better be good!"

"It will be," Denmark said, shoving him away. "Romano, got the microphone? Are you ready?

"Yes, bastard." He smirked. "Of course I am."

"Get out there and wow them."

…

Romano slithered slowly onto the stage area in his high-heeled tan boots. A hush fell over the room, splintered only by the tinkle of broken glass as Spain dropped his drink on the floor. "L-Lovi?" he moaned. Tastefully made up, Romano was wearing beaded green short shorts, a green bra, and a white stuffed snake around his neck. Spain kept staring, as a bar employee moved to clean up the broken glass.

"Hello, all you bastards," Romano breathed seductively. "My name is Britney. I'm here tonight with some of my friends, and we're going to sing a song for you. First, I'd like to introduce my albino friend Lady Gaga."

Prussia walked out in a dress covered in pale pink balloons, wearing a platinum blond wig, very heavy makeup, black fishnet stockings and silver heels. "Whoa," they heard America say. Prussia blew some kisses to the audience, most of whom were laughing by now.

"Next, our Danish friend Cher." Denmark, wearing a gigantic black feathered headdress, sashayed out in a dress that was pure showgirl: black sequined skirt, bodice resembling a spider web, and black sequined wrap. From the tip of his headdress to the bottom of his six-inch stilettos the Nordic nation stood nearly nine feet tall; Romano looked like a doll next to him.

"Denmark?" Norway squeaked from the side of the room. Denmark waved at him, grinning cheekily, and struck a flamboyant pose. By now the audience was in hysterics, except for Spain, frozen and drooling over Romano, and Poland, frozen and drooling over Denmark's outfit.

"And finally, my boyfriend, Ginger Spice." England stomped out authoritatively in his red platform boots and Union Jack minidress, flipping his long red hair around, blowing Romano a kiss.

"Hello, Salzburg!" he called out, grinning and waving. Most of the nations in the room waved back at him, still laughing; France began to look a little distracted.

Prussia took the microphone from Romano. "This is a little number called 'Boom Boom Pow.' We hope you like it!"

Denmark bent to switch on the karaoke machine and Prussia started singing. The listening nations quieted down; they'd expected a camp performance, but Prussia sounded pretty good. Feet and fingers began tapping as he kept up with the fast-paced, heavy beat. Denmark and England provided visual interest, dancing and backing up Prussia on the vocals. Romano stood to the side and stroked his plush snake suggestively, smirking through heavily-mascaraed lashes at those slobbering bastards Spain and France.

The island nation stepped forward, planted his legs a few feet apart, and belted out the Fergie verse into the microphone; nations began clapping along. At the end of the verse he tossed the mic to Romano, who talked his way through the next verse without too much of a problem, scowling the whole time.

Denmark took the mic and swung his hips as he came to the front of the little stage, grinning and singing the next verse in an operatic way before handing the microphone back to England.

"People in the place, if you wanna get down, put your hands in the air! Pruss.i.a, drop the beat now!" England burst out laughing as he said that, and his wig fell off. He scooped it up and slapped it back on haphazardly, still laughing as Prussia took the mic.

Everyone jumped up and began to dance along with the cavorting nations on the stage. Denmark stepped back and bumped into Prussia, popping a balloon or two. "Let the beat rock!"

By this point everyone was dancing, even Switzerland, laughing along with Estonia behind the judging table. America had collared Austria and they were having fun together; Iceland, in his Lucy outfit, danced with the feline Liechtenstein.

When the song wound down, everyone in the room felt happy and exhausted. The four nations hugged each other (trying not to pop more of Prussia's balloons) and stepped down into the room, accepting the cold drinks Austria had ordered for them, talking happily with their friends, showing off their awesome costumes. France and Spain kept trying to get close, and England and Romano kept dodging them.

The judges convened behind the table, discussing things in low whispers. Nobody really paid attention to them. "Attention!" Austria then yelled, rapping on the table like a conductor with a baton. "Everyone, attention!"

No one heeded him; Switzerland shot a blank into the air, which sobered them all. "Attention, please," the host nation said in a slightly more sedate tone. "We are ready to announce the winners."

A hush fell over the room. He'd never told them what the prizes would be. This could be interesting.

"First runner-up is America, for his beautiful song." Austria beamed at America, and Switzerland absently shot off his pistol again, making everyone (including himself) jump. Austria ignored him. "You win an intimate dinner for two at one of Salzburg's finest restaurants."

"And I know just who I wanna take there, too." The tall blond smiled as he stood to take the gift certificate from Austria.

"Bloody git still can't speak proper English," England grumbled under his breath. Prussia, who heard him, poked him.

"In second place we have Poland and Liechtenstein's comedy routine." The two leopard-clad nations rose to shake his hand politely. "Your prize is a thousand-Euro shopping spree at one of our fine department stores."

"A thousand _each?_ " Poland squealed. "That's, like, totally awesome." Austria nodded and handed them each a gift certificate. They returned to their space in the crowd.

"And by unanimous decision, the first-place winners tonight are Prussia, Denmark, Romano and England. Congratulations!" Austria drifted over to shake their hands.

"Kesesese! What do we win? What's the awesome prize?"

Everyone in the room listened eagerly. "Ten thousand Euros in casino credits at the Salzburg Casino!"

…

 _I picked Cher for Denmark because she's about as non-Danish as you can get: half Cherokee and half Armenian. You can see this outfit by searching for "Cher headdress Oscars."_

 _Ginger Spice's dress is…_ really mini. _And really tight._

 _Prussia wore Gaga's bubble dress, a_ _nd Romano, of course, dressed as Britney Spears with her snake from the 2001 VMAs._


	84. Romano in Wonderland

**Romano in Wonderland.**

"Here are the pillows and blankets, bastards." Romano flung them onto the floor.

"Thanks." Denmark patted his foot, since he was already lying on the floor. "Prussia wants a fire."

"Cheh. When doesn't he? Where is he, anyway?"

"Bathroom. Too much beer."

"Any beer is too much beer." Romano moved to the fireplace and began to lay the fire.

"Thanks, sweetie," Prussia beamed, bouncing into the room. "The pizza was awesome."

"It really was!" Denmark agreed. "But...I'm looking forward to sleeping. We had an exhausting day."

"I know." Prussia arranged blankets and pillows for the three of them, this time with Romano in the middle. "Kesesese."

"Whatever, bastard," the Italian said, sighing as he looked at the sleeping arrangements. The fire was flaring up, and his head hurt. He climbed into the spot between his friends and settled in to sleep. "Good night."

"Good night," Denmark said, pinching his cheek, and "Good night, awesome ones," from Prussia.

...

Romano walked through a forest with strange trees and creepy undergrowth that looked like black pasta. "Where the fuck am I now?" he wondered aloud. He started to call out for his friends, before realizing a shout might bring someone he wasn't interested in talking to. He walked on, trying to find a path.

"Yo!" he heard from above him. When he looked up, America was sitting in a tree, grinning down at him.

"What the hell are you doing in a tree, burger bastard?"

"Kesesese!" America said, which struck Romano as really odd, though he couldn't remember why. "Just hanging out. Wanted to see your dress. It's really cute!" America gave him two thumbs up and fell out of the tree to land at Romano's feet. "Ow."

"You okay?" But Romano's attention, as he looked down at the larger nation, was distracted by the fact that he was wearing a dress! A _dress!_ Dammit, what the hell had those bastards done to him now? "Denmark! Prussia!" he called out, but the only response was America's continued groans of pain.

Romano looked at the dress again. Well, it was better than his Britney Spears outfit, at least. It was a pretty nice moss green color. He knew this kind of color emphasized the amber of his eyes. So in that respect it wasn't too much of a problem. But it had lace around the sleeve cuffs - lace and pearl buttons, which for some reason made him think of England. In fact this whole dress was kind of an English style. Had he forgotten something? Why would England want him in a dress? He snorted.

America rolled over onto his back and stopped moaning. "Well, anyway, you look pretty good in that dress," he considered. "You might want to get moving. It's getting late."

"It is? Oh!" Romano picked up his skirts and began to run, but almost immediately tripped over a tree root. When he got up he took a second to check out his shoes.

Huh. He'd assumed they'd be some girly things, to go with this dress, but they were actually his own regular boots. Well, that was good; he wouldn't get blisters. He started running again...

...before realizing that he had no idea where he was going. Or why. "Fuck!"

"Hey, stop yelling, man," Greece said from atop a giant mushroom. "I'm trying to get some sleep."

"When are you _not_?" Romano snapped. "Where the hell am I supposed to be going?"

Greece raised a lazy hand and pointed. Romano walked on.

"Awesome!" he heard from behind a tree.

"Now what?" he murmured to himself. He passed the tree and Prussia jumped out at him.

"Kesesese!"

"What the hell are you doing, albino potato?" Prussia was dressed in skinny pants, a lacy shirt, tight blazer, and a freakishly high top hat.

"Dressing up! You know how the awesome me loves to dress up. Don't I look good?" He pirouetted on the spot.

"You look like a fucking idiot."

"Well, you don't look so good yourself. Why are you in a dress? Kinky games with Arthur?" Prussia smirked. "Den and I play those games sometimes. Usually it's me in the dress, but you know I look good no matter what I wear."

"Dammit! Shut up, shut up! I do not want to know about what you and Denmark do together. And, and I don't even know what the hell I'm doing in this dress anyway," Romano grumbled. "Why am I in a dress?"

"I don't know! I just asked you, remember? Hey. Come on. I'm meeting Den for tea. You can join us. Though in that dress you might drag down the tone of the meal." Prussia put his arm around Romano and they walked off, the Italian grumbling under his breath the whole time.

They reached a clearing which was set with long tables made of chocolate. "What the fuck? Are these tables made of chocolate, or just made to look like chocolate?" Romano bent down and sniffed at them. Huh. Smelled like chocolate.

"They're awesomely chocolate. Swissy lent them to me for the tea."

"Who is coming to this stupid tea?"

"Just me and Denmark, as far as I know. Have a seat. He'll be here soon."

Den was indeed there soon, as he popped out from behind a tall tree, beaming. He too wore a strange outfit, a white fur coat with a hat that looked like floppy bunny ears.

"You two are up to something stupid, I can tell," Romano sighed.

"Ah! Romano, you need to get changed," Denmark told him.

"What? You mean I can get out of this idiotic dress? Where are my real clothes?" He looked around the clearing but didn't see them.

Denmark reached into the pocket of his fur coat and pulled out a little white fur suit. Wordlessly, he handed it to Romano.

"What is this? Some kind of bunny suit?" He held it at arm's length, distastefully.

"It's a mink suit, kesesese! We couldn't get a dormouse costume, so you have to be the albino mink. Put it on!"

Romano sighed. Well, at least it would get him out of the dress. "Why do I have to get out of the damn dress?"

"Because we found someone else who makes a better Alice," Denmark told him. Romano was too bothered about the mink costume to attend to this properly. When he'd finally struggled into it and zipped it up, he looked at his friends to see England standing between them in a frilly blue dress with an apron and girly shoes, red-faced and scowling like a demon.

"Bastard! What the hell?"

"Don't ask me! I've no bloody idea what these wankers are thinking."

"Arthur, stop being a wet blanket. You look really pretty. Come sit at Swissy's table and have some tea."

"Any tea you gits make is bound to be terrible. I'm leaving."

"You can't leave! Come on, we need to have our tea."

"Have it without me, Den. I'm going home to put my uniform back on. I feel like an idiot in this dress."

"You _look_ like an idiot in that dress, too," Denmark laughed at him. "Come on, play along."

England plopped down on a bench and began picking away at the tabletop.

"Stop fiddling with Swissy's chocolate table! He'll shoot us!"

Romano found a little sympathy for his angry, girly boyfriend and sat across the table from him, smiling weakly. England didn't react. "Who got the tables, bastards? Who would he shoot?" Romano thought to ask.

"Me!" Prussia crowed. "You don't think he'd do something this nice because _Denmark_ asked him?"

"Hey! Shut the hell up, Teutonic Knights!" Denmark pushed Prussia.

This immediately escalated into a real fight, until Denmark threw Prussia across the clearing and he landed on a table, breaking it.

Before anyone could speak, Switzerland ran into the clearing with a rifle. "Get away from my tables!" He shot a warning shot into the air. Nobody moved. "Get away!" He shot again, and this time the bullet hit a table, spraying chocolate everywhere. "Damn you all!" Switzerland went on a shooting spree, aiming at the four of them, until all were lying on the ground wounded.

"Bastard, you are fucking insane," was the last thing Romano remembered saying, before blacking out.

...

He woke up on the floor of his living room, heart pounding, and sat up. Denmark was snoring like a chainsaw and Prussia had stolen all the blankets.

Romano grabbed his pillow and stormed off to his own bed. Dammit. That was the _last fucking time_ they would ever use gravlaks and wurst as pizza toppings.


	85. Denmark in Wonderland

**Denmark in Wonderland.**

Denmark stretched and felt the fabric of his top rip. "What?" He craned his neck to look at his back; of course he couldn't see it, but he could definitely see the pink velvet fabric. " _What?_ Hey, Prussia! Where are you? I thought it was your turn tonight!"

Then he calmed down a minute and looked at his outfit. Pink velvet, yep. A dress, yep. It had little golden eagles embroidered on it. So this was not one of the dresses they'd used before. Since it had ripped when he stretched, it was too small, so it was probably designed for Prussia, who was not, he realized, responding to his shout. He decided to walk around and see if he could find him. It was really cold here.

"Uhhhh…" he heard from behind a large bush.

"Prussia?"

But behind the bush stood Japan. Dressed like Cher. The feathered headdress was too large for his tiny frame and made him look like an unbalanced bowling pin. "Denmark-san."

"What is it?" he asked politely.

Veneziano stepped out from behind another tree, in Romano's Britney outfit. "We have orders to take you to the Queen, ve! Come along!" He whacked Denmark with the stuffed snake. Japan grabbed his arm and they frog-marched him along through the well-lit forest for a while. He looked around as they walked, but didn't see anything unusual, and he couldn't figure out why it was so cold. "Hey, Prussia!" he yelled, just for the hell of it.

"Do not speak again, Denmark-san. You are in big, big trouble!"

They came to an abrupt halt before a tall, ornate throne. A menacing figure sat there. Yes. It was Germany, wearing the Ginger Spice outfit. The outfit was much too small. "What are you doing up there?" the Dane asked. Germany descended the long flight of stairs, and Den could see that he had on the Ginger Spice wig, too.

"Ve! Don't be so familiar with the queen!"

The Viking burst out laughing, and Japan smacked him in the back of the head. "I always knew you were more violent than you let on," Den snarled, rubbing the back of his head.

Germany finally reached the bottom of the stairs. "Off with his head," he told Veneziano nonchalantly, more concerned about pulling the minidress down a little further. With the platform boots on, Germany appeared to be about ten feet tall. Denmark wished he was still wearing his stilettos, but he had his normal military boots on. Damn. He wondered how Germany could be so comfortable in such skimpy clothing, when it was so cold.

"Well? You heard her, ve, we have to cut off your head; come on." Veneziano tried to pull Denmark out of the clearing; Japan grabbed his other arm again, and his headdress slipped off. He ignored it. Germany stayed in place, still tugging on the dress' hem.

This was ridiculous. If Denmark couldn't get away from two little pipsqueaks like Japan and North Italy, Prussia would laugh him out of existence! He jerked his arms away and began to run.

"Stop, I'm warning you," Japan said pleasantly, before the earth erupted and a giant hero robot, looking like America, came forth.

"I-am-the-hero," it said, in a robotic imitation of America's voice. "I-will-cut-your-head-off."

"Like hell!" Denmark yelled, running between its legs and out of the forest, feeling the bodice of the dress rip as he ran. He ran for perhaps a mile, and when he heard no sounds of pursuit, rested behind a tree.

"You are disturbing my siesta-aru." China sat at a small bistro table beneath a tree. One teacup and a teapot sat on the table.

"Since when do you take siestas?"

"Since I have decided to take siestas-aru! Now shut up!" A used teabag flew towards Denmark's head; he ducked, and it flew beyond him.

"Have you seen Prussia? Or Romano?" Dimly Denmark wondered why he hadn't been looking for Romano yet.

"Yes. Russia and Prussia just went off that way. Now go after them and let me sleep."

"Whatever you say!" He followed China's pointing finger into a big field of dwarf sunflowers.

"I love sunflowers!" he heard. Expecting Russia or Prussia, he was dumbfounded to spot Romano, dressed in Prussian uniform, capering happily in the sunflowers.

"Oh," Denmark finally realized. "This must be a nightmare." He made himself wake up.

Huh. No sign of Romano. And Prussia had all the blankets. "Give me those," he hissed, stealing most of them back and rolling over. A pink velvet dress, indeed. Prussia was going to pay for that. Even if it _had_ only been a dream.

…

 _No prizes for guessing what the next chapter title will be._


	86. Prussia in Wonderland

**Prussia in Wonderland.**

The White Queen stood and stretched, admiring herself in the large cheval mirror in Romano's living room. "Kesesese! I am really extraordinarily beautiful." She eyed with appreciation the white wedding gown she wore, laden with tulle and brilliants, the dashing tiara that set off her crimson eyes. "Time to get out there and wow my subjects!"

Out in the brilliant sunshine the gown twinkled like a festival of stars. The queen twirled and twirled on a grassy knoll. "I send little beams of delight everywhere I go."

After a few minutes she tired of this and walked on in her sturdy jackboots. There was no sound in the area, no sound at all except the crunching of twigs and leaves under the queen's feet. "Where are those guys?" she wondered aloud.

"I'm right here, Prussia," Austria sniffed haughtily. "You don't need to make so much noise when you walk. You disrupt the symphony of nature."

"What? What 'symphony of nature'? All I can hear is leaves crunching." Prussia was rather distressed at this conversation and forgot that he was supposed to be the queen.

"Leaves crunching is part of the symphony. Listen to the birds, the screams, the babble of the brook…"

"The _screams?_ " they both yelled, now becoming aware of a fierce and frightening scream in the distance.

"Come on, let's go." Prussia picked up his skirts and ran, and it wasn't until he reached the screamer – Denmark – that he realized Austria had abandoned him. "Den, what the hell are you screaming about?"

"Th-there's something scary over there," Denmark stuttered, pointing towards a small copse of trees.

"Don't be a baby. What could it be?"

"I don't know!"

"Well, what's it like?"

"Scary!"

"Den, you are impossible. Look, as long as you stop screaming I don't care how chicken you are, although I'm going to make your life hell about this when I wake up. So stop screaming, all right? Kesesese!"

Denmark turned and fled from the scene.

Prussia was kind of intrigued, though, because there wasn't much that could intimidate the big Viking like that. Ha ha, he'd bet it was Romano, playing a prank. Holding up the skirts of the glimmering bridal gown, he stepped closer to the trees.

But there was nothing there. Nothing at all. "Huh. He's been drinking." He came back out, trying to remember where he had been heading, but…couldn't. "Hey, Denmark!" he yelled. "Romano!"

A very faint answering yell came from over a hill. He couldn't make out the words, but he could definitely hear Romano's angry voice, which got deeper and more accented whenever he started yelling in earnest. Better get over there and save him! Prussia pelted towards the source of the shouting, absently hoping none of the diamonds were coming off the dress.

Romano and Veneziano were facing each other, shouting in Italian at the top of their lungs. No wonder he couldn't make it out. "Stop yelling!" Prussia yelled.

They immediately stopped and turned to face him. He noticed they were both wearing clothing that resembled the Italian flag. "What are you doing here, albino potato?"

"Ve, why didn't you bring us a juicy tomato?

"You shouldn't interrupt our screams!"

"Or we will send you unpleasant dreams, ve!"

Romano turned to his brother, irritated. "Stop putting your stupid 've' at the end of every sentence! It won't rhyme, and I refuse to say 've' just to make it rhyme!"

"You could say 'hey,' or 'yay,'" Veneziano suggested, making Romano stamp his foot in anger.

Prussia had stood dumbfounded during all this. "What the hell is going on here?"

"I'm Tweedledum," Romano said, "although technically Veneziano is quite a bit dumber than I am."

"Oh, Romano, you're so mean. I'm Tweedledee, ve! Romano says things and it's my job to make rhymes for them."

"What kinds of rhymes do you make?"

"Rhymes about carrots and cake! Ve," he hurriedly appended.

"This is so fucking stupid, dammit."

"Ve, take out a hammer and wham it!"

"Veneziano, you're a fucking _idiot!_ "

There was a short silence.

"Ve, I can't think of a rhyme for idiot, can you, Prussia?"

"Nope. No awesome rhymes for idiot. Sorry, Romano."

"Don't 'sorry' me, bastards. I'd just as soon not have to listen to this fucking bullshit."

"Well, then come with me, because I'm trying to find Den. He ran off a little while ago."

"And just where he went, ve, we don't know!"

" _Shut up!"_ Romano punched Veneziano and grabbed Prussia by the arm. They ran off, leaving the rhymer in the dust.

 _"Veeee~…"_

"Dammit, he drives me nuts every once in a while."

"You know, I like your little brother, but it's a crazy style. Kesesese!"

"Oh, not you too," the brunet groaned.

"Nope. I'll stop. Just teasing you. You know you love rhymes."

"I'm going to kill you, Teutonic bastard."

"No, you're not; you're going to help me find Den! Come on. _Hey, Denmark!_ "

There was a commotion behind some trees. "Think that's him?"

"I don't know," Prussia admitted. "I saw him earlier and he was screaming like Veneziano."

"Shut up."

"Come on. Peek around for him."

Together they sneaked over to the trees and peeked around. "Ha ha ha," Romano burst out, "no, it's definitely not Denmark!"

They walked around the tree to see Germany standing proudly in front of them, in full military dress uniform, complete with monocle and riding crop, which he was switching against his own leg nervously. He had his back to them, and was murmuring under his breath. The uniform was bright red, and…he wore a red tutu over the coat. "Whoa, West, that's a hell of a fashion statement!"

Germany turned to see his big brother wearing a white sparkly wedding gown. "How is it any worse than yours, _Bruder_?"

Prussia spared a moment to look down at the dress, which he'd forgotten. "Oh. Well, mine looks good on me. In fact, I look awesome."

Romano didn't say anything, but stood off to the side, looking a bit fearful as Germany barked, "Off with his head!" and hit Prussia with the crop.

"Ow! West, that's uncool. Just because my dress is nicer than yours…"

"I'm telling you, Prussia, I've had enough of you. You're an ex-nation, _Dummkopf_ , so, either get out of here, or let me cut off your head!"

"No way! You seriously want to cut off my head? Man. That's gratitude for you. After all those years of raising you, making sure you stayed strong…Come on, Romano, let's blow, before he starts getting choppy."

But Romano was no longer there. "Romano!"

No answer.

"Get out of here, Prussia. I have to practice my violin."

"Yikes! I'm going, I'm going, believe me!"

"And don't come back!"

"Nice tutu, West!" he called out as he ran away. "Very stylish!"

Prussia ran off and found Denmark sitting in a glen with Gilbird nesting in his spiky hair. "Hey, Den, where did you run off to?"

"Shh. You'll wake the birdie."

"Okay," Prussia stage-whispered. "Where did you run off to, kesesese?" His trademark laugh sounded very malevolent when he whispered it.

"Went to get beer. It's over this way. I've been waiting for you."

"You're so good to me. Don't you like my dress? You didn't say anything about it before."

"Yes, it's lovely; the white color suits you." Denmark led him placidly to a bistro table under a tree, where Romano and England were calmly drinking beer out of teacups.

" _Hic!_ Hi, Gilbert!"

"Hi, yourself, Arthur. What are _you_ wearing?"

"Just m'usual uniform, _hic_ , why?"

"The bastard's drunk," Romano pointed out, as if Prussia couldn't have guessed.

"Awesome! Is there any more beer?"

"N-nope." Arthur put his head on the table and passed out.

"What? You couldn't save me any beer?"

"Calm down, albino potato, there's a whole case over here."

Denmark beamed. "A whole case full of awesome beer!"

Romano's eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything. Maybe he was afraid of more spontaneous rhyming? Prussia decided to test this as he reached into the case for a beer. "Open this up for me, will you, Den?"

"I did it once, I'll do it again!"

"Dammit!"

Both Prussia and Denmark started laughing as the brunet got up from the table and ran off. The two of them toasted each other with their beer bottles and drank. "This is awesome beer indeed, my friend," the albino admitted.

"If you're hurt, it will help you mend."

"Listen, Den, can the rhyming, will you? Romano was right, it is kind of annoying, and now that he's gone you don't have to keep doing it."

"Yeah, all right, but if he comes back, I'm going to start again."

"All right." They finished their beer and sat on the grass, somewhat idly watching the comatose Arthur snore.

"Wonder how many beers he had?" Prussia wondered.

"Enough to make him really glad!"

"Denmark, I told you to shut up with the rhyming!"

"I can't stop it! I have terrible timing!" Denmark clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Just – don't say another word."

But Denmark's hand lifted from his mouth just long enough for him to say, "I don't want to disturb Gilbird."

Prussia jumped up. "If you do it again, I'm going to leave!"

"Wait! There's a beetle on your sleeve!"

The albino ran off without commenting. When he was out of earshot of the annoying Denmark, he took a deep breath and stopped running. "Man, this is a very strange day."

Romano peeked out from behind another tree. "Did the bastard go away?"

Prussia gave Romano a funny look, but the Italian just shrugged. "I was just asking a question, bastard."

"I know. It's not some big disaster."

Both of them stared in shock as Prussia spouted this quasi-rhyme. Prussia waited for Romano to speak, to see if he could keep rhyming, but apparently his friend had learned his lesson, and resolutely kept his mouth shut, smirking.

It was a standoff. Then Germany and Veneziano appeared, bearing gift baskets. "Prussia, I've decided not to cut your head off," Germany told him.

"It would be difficult to sneeze, ve, or cough!"

Romano grabbed the gift basket from his brother and whacked him over the head with it, still refusing to speak. "Hey! That gift basket is for the queen!" Germany thundered.

This was too much for Romano, apparently, and he spoke. "What queen, potato bastard?"

"Prussia! Prussia is the white queen, ve!" Veneziano stepped forward and presented Prussia with the (slightly damaged) gift basket. "It's full of coupons for awesome beer!"

Germany handed his brother the other basket. "To make amends – well – here."

Romano turned and ran screaming from the clearing, but Prussia didn't bother following. He was too interested in the contents of West's gift basket. He eagerly tore off the shrink wrap and found a complete matched set of souvenir spoons. "West! I love you! Kesesese, this is the best dream ever!"

…

Prussia woke up and found himself lying uncovered on the floor of Romano's living room; Denmark, several feet away, had all the blankets, and was snoring loudly. Of Romano there was no sign. "What an awesome dream," he sighed happily, moving closer to Denmark and slipping under the blankets with him. "Things are not always as they seem."

Then he too clapped his hand over his mouth.


	87. How the Skirmish Brothers Became Friends

**How the Skirmish Brothers Became Friends.**

 _Early April._ Many of the European nations are partying at a club in Berlin. Prussia, of course, being a sort of local host, is even more outrageous than usual tonight, wild, screaming, laughing. He had on an interesting blue sweater earlier, but took it off when it got too hot in the club.

In a corner, France and Spain are quietly drinking and talking together, with a drunken Romano passed out on their table. Nearby, Germany has loosened up a bit and is smiling, with a bubbly North Italy on his lap. The music is loud and exciting. England is dancing with America, for a change, and the Nordics are holding a drinking contest at a large round table.

Everyone, in fact, appears to be having a fun time, the usual type of raucous fun that always goes on at these events.

Everyone except Denmark.

The spiky-haired nation, who's sitting with the other Nordic nations but not taking part in the contest, sighs and finishes his vodka martini almost absently. Yeah, he's been drinking a lot, but he's not worried about how it will affect him. He sighs again and waves at the manic Prussia, who is flitting past to get new drinks for someone.

Yes.

Denmark wants Prussia.

Denmark has wanted Prussia for centuries, but half the time they were warring, and during the other half, Denmark had been with Norway. On-again, off-again, but there'd come a point where he realized Norway just wasn't the right kind of partner for him. Not loud enough, not fun enough. Not like an equal. Not like Prussia.

Denmark rarely lacks self-confidence, but boy, in the matter of the albino, he just doesn't know what to do anymore. These nation gatherings are so – so damn _public_ that he really can't get comfortable with the idea of rushing up to Prussia and blurting something out. Even if nobody overhears him, Prussia will probably think he's joking.

Damn it.

He decides to give up for tonight. Rising, he scoops up Prussia's blue sweater, which he hid under his chair a while ago, and takes it home, without making his goodbyes to anyone.

…

 _Early May_. Denmark's been feeling like a girly wimp about all this, so, instead of staring morosely at the sweater and feeling lame, he has decided to go visit Prussia, without all the other nations around, and see if he can actually get somewhere. He has a shot of aquavit to brace himself before leaving, grabs the sweater again, and heads to Berlin with no advance warning. He can't even be sure Prussia will be home. Denmark might end up making polite conversation with Germany for a while, but what the hell. At least it's a start.

…

"I do not, repeat, _not_ want to go to the potato bastard's house!"

"Romano, ve, it will do you some good. I think you need to make some new friends. Every time you're with Spain you fight and get drunk! That's not good, ve."

"New friends, my ass," Romano grumbles, but a little part of him wishes he did have a good friend. Maybe not some stupid boyfriend to gush over him the way his _fratello_ does with the stupid potato, but – but – "But the only one there is the albino potato, dammit, and it's impossible to be friends with him. He's too fucking insane."

"Ve. You haven't spent enough time around him to make that kind of comment, _fratello_. You're not doing anything today anyway, right? So just come spend the day! Maybe it will be better than you expect."

"Dammit." But what the hell. Romano's in a pissy mood, and it might be nice to vent at somebody else for a change, since it never seems to have any effect on either Veneziano or Spain, the only two people he spends any real kind of time with. "Fuck. Well, all right."

The Italy brothers get their shoes and jackets and head to Germany's place.

…

"West, what are we awesomely doing today?"

" _We_ are not doing anything, _Bruder_. Italy is coming over and I'm letting him choose where we go today."

"Awesome! I don't mind tagging along at all."

Germany raked his hands through his hair. "Prussia, I'm not entirely certain that either Italy or I want you tag–" His comment was cut off by the sound of the doorbell.

"I'll get it, West!" Prussia raced to the door, plastering a beaming smile onto his face, so that he could convince Veneziano to include him in the day's plans. He didn't want to sit around alone at home again.

He opened the door to both Veneziano and the grouchy Romano. "Hey, guys, come in! Awesome to see you. I didn't know you were coming along, Romano."

"Cheh. I didn't either. Get out of the way, albino potato." He shoved Prussia aside and stomped into the house; Veneziano, less uptight, gave the albino a friendly hug.

"Ve, where's Germany? Did he forget we were coming over?"

But the blond appeared from the living room. "Hello, Italy."

Veneziano launched himself at Germany with a loud squeal, so loud that only Prussia heard Romano's muttered complaint of "I'm Italy too, you fucking bastard."

Huh. Prussia had never thought about it that way. He looked at Romano with new eyes, but before he could say anything, Germany asked, "Did you decide what we're going to do today, Italy?"

"Ve. Do you have any bouncy houses in Berlin?"

"Bouncy houses?" Germany asked in disbelief. "You want to go dancing? I'm not even sure there would be a dance club open at this hour."

"No, stupid. He means, uh, inflatables. You know. Inflated buildings that you jump around in."

Light dawned for Prussia. "Oh! Like a moon bounce, right? Awesome! Yes, we have a place with a huge field full of different ones. Great idea, Veneziano! Let me get my shoes and coat."

"Prussia…" Germany's voice held a warning, but Prussia ignored it. He loved moon bounces – _bouncy houses_ , kesesese, what a great term – and he wasn't going to let West be a party pooper. It would be totally unfair for Romano, Veneziano and West to go bouncing and leave him at home. _Completely_ unfair. He hurried to get his things.

Germany turned to his boyfriend. "I'm sorry, Italy. I can try to figure out a way to get Prussia to stay home."

But North Italy was nothing if not accommodating. "Ve, there's no reason for that, Germany. Romano and I don't mind if Prussia joins us." Here, he directed a look at his older brother, who scowled. "Let's all go bouncing together!"

Prussia came back into the room just in time to hear this. "Awesome, indeed, my Italian friends." He made it a point to include Romano in that. He suddenly wondered whether Romano ever felt uncomfortable around West and Veneziano. Because he, Prussia, certainly did. It was damned depressing sometimes.

But Romano was such an irritable bastard! Hah, even if the two of them tried to sneak away from West and Veneziano, Prussia wasn't sure he could take it. All that negativity…

"Well, then, let's get going," Germany sighed, putting his arm around Veneziano's shoulder. "The best place for inflatables is across town."

The four of them tramped to the front door, Romano still sulking. While Germany got his coat, Prussia grabbed the door handle and flung the door open in his exuberance…

…to find a startled Denmark on the front porch, eyes wide, taken aback, a hand raised to knock. "Den! Hi. Come to go bouncing with us? Kesesese!"

"Uh, what?"

Germany and the Italy brothers came out of the house. "Hello, Denmark," the blond said to his northern neighbor. "I didn't realize you were coming to visit today."

Veneziano was staring at Denmark unabashed, but Romano stared down at his shoes. Prussia made a snap decision. "Did you come to see me, Den? I hope you did. I haven't talked to you in forever. Come bouncing with us. We're going to jump on some inflatables. Veneziano calls them 'bouncy houses,' isn't that cool? Come on, you can bounce with me and Romano while these two lovebirds go off and bounce together."

Denmark still looked a bit like a deer in headlights, confronted with all this activity, but he laughed. "Sure, I like bouncing. I don't mind. Oh – I think this sweater is yours?" He handed the albino the blue sweater.

"Whoa! Where did you find it? I really love this sweater. Iggy knit it for me a long time ago, and I felt really bad that I lost it. He can be really sour sometimes, but when somebody makes you a handmade gift, it's not awesome at all to lose it. Let me throw it in the house and we can go."

"Just bring it along, Prussia. It won't get lost if it's in the car." Germany had already moved to the car and unlocked it. "Denmark, I suppose you'd better ride in the front."

"Ve, but Germany…"

"Italy, Denmark is much taller than you are. With both him and Prussia in the back seat, poor Romano will be crushed."

"Shut up, dammit."

"I'll tell you what, I don't mind driving," Denmark said. "Separately. Then if you guys want to go off and do something else, Prussia and I can take care of ourselves."

Only Prussia saw Romano's scowl intensify. "Yes, that's all right, Den, but we should take Romano with us, instead of making him stick around with the sappy lovebirds."

Romano's head snapped up and he looked at Prussia with suspicion. Then he looked at Denmark. "Whatever, bastards," he finally said, sighing.

"Awesome. West, you know how to get there, right? We'll go in Denmark's car and meet you there."

"All right, Prussia."

"Kesesese!"

In the car, Prussia (who'd called shotgun, relegating the once-again grumbling Romano to the back seat) turned to Denmark. "You came all this way just to bring my sweater back? That's so nice of you. It's good to see you; we haven't really talked to each other for a long time."

"Yeah, but going to an inflatables place is going to be fun! I haven't done anything like that in forever."

"Too busy with your nation stuff, huh?" Prussia turned sideways so he could include Romano in the conversation as well. "I don't have any nation work to do, unless I pester West so much that he gives me some work to shut me up." He sighed. "What about you, Romano?"

"Cheh. I don't like doing it, so I let my idiot brother do it all. He just does whatever the stupid potato tells him to do, anyway."

"But that's no good," Denmark pointed out, meeting Romano's eyes in the rearview mirror. "If you hate Germany so much – uh, sorry, Prussia –"

"No, that's awesomely all right; I know Romano can't stand him –"

"– well, then you shouldn't let things go on that way. Because then your country is being run on Germany's principles. I'd think that would get you even more pissed off."

"Kesesese! Hard to believe anything could get Romano _more_ pissed off!"

"Shut up, you idiotic albino. I didn't even want to be here today, so just leave me alone." The brunet blew out a sigh and turned to face out the window.

"Well, then, why did you come up? If you hate Germany, and you didn't want to be here?" The Dane looked confused, and Prussia could certainly understand why. Romano didn't make any sense, sometimes.

" _Chigi!_ My idiot brother thinks I need to make new friends." He turned red and rubbed a hand over his face. "Stupid idiot," he muttered in a lower tone.

Denmark didn't say anything, but Prussia – "Ah, West is just the same way with me."

"What?" This statement apparently jolted Romano right out of his doldrums. "You're always hanging out with other nations, you pest."

"Well. Not always because they want me to. I…if I don't pester people they might forget about me."

The Viking laughed at this, though, and reached out a hand to ruffle Prussia's hair. "How could anyone ever forget about you?"

"You are so sweet to me. Ever since I lost my nation status I sometimes think you're the only one who takes me even the slightest bit seriously." This sounded a bit maudlin, so Prussia added, "Kesesese." Then: "Turn left up here; the parking lot's on the right."

"Got it," Denmark answered, and parked the car.

…

By now Romano was feeling a little nervous. _Nervous_. Not angry, not irritated. Not even useless, which he felt more often than he cared to admit. No, Prussia had been acting almost friendly with him today. And that was making him edgy and nervous, so he didn't have the leisure to be cranky or sullen. He was going to stay very alert, just in case this was some kind of setup for a dumb prank.

Denmark, on the other hand –

Romano didn't know Denmark well at all. Oh, he recognized him, the spiky hair, the bright blue eyes, but he'd never spent more than a few passing minutes with him, and other than seeing him carousing with the other Nordic nations, hadn't formed much of an opinion of him at all. But their conversation in the car had been entirely reasonable.

Well, Romano considered, he had no preconceptions about Denmark, so maybe Denmark didn't have any about him? Or maybe people were beginning to forget about South Italy, too, just like they were about the albino potato.

Dammit.

Germany and Veneziano had already paid and gone into the building, so Romano fished some cash out of his pocket, but Denmark waved it aside. "I'll treat," he offered. "Nice to be having some real fun, today."

"Thanks, bastard."

"Oh, yeah! Now that I get to spend some time with you, I have to ask you this." Denmark paid the clerk. "I always wondered why you call everybody a bastard."

"Cheh. Everybody _is_ a bastard."

"That's not true at all," Prussia put in, clapping Denmark on the shoulder. " _Denmark_ is never a bastard." Then he seemed to reconsider this. "Well. Not since the late nineteenth century, anyway." The two northern nations laughed together. Romano made a mental note to look up some of the history of Denmark and Prussia when he got home. Not that he really cared. It would just be something to pass the time.

"Whoa!" they heard Veneziano yell, ahead of them. "That's a _lot_ of bouncy houses, ve!" Stretching out over an area the size of a sports field was a dizzying array of inflatables in all shapes and sizes. Some had slides, some had what looked like tunnels, and some were simply for bouncing. Romano was also struck dumb temporarily.

Then he regained his focus. "This is so fucking babyish. I can't believe my brother wanted to do this." Though some of them did look like fun.

"Not babyish at all, Romano!" Prussia grabbed his arm, and, distracted, Romano failed to pull away. "It's fun to let loose like this sometimes. How can it be babyish if we're all doing it together? Right, Den?"

"Right. Come on; let's go through that one that looks like a tunnel maze."

Romano slouched over behind the two more exuberant nations. "Last one through is a rotten tomato!" Prussia laughed, leaping onto the structure.

That taunt fired the Italian's blood. " _Chigi!_ You're not going to beat me, albino potato!" He pushed past Denmark and frantically began making his way through the bouncy tunnels.

"Wait for me!" Denmark called, far behind them.

"Ha ha!" Romano easily passed the albino, punching him in the arm as he passed, and stood grinning at the end of the maze until the other two caught up. "Slackers."

"Kesesese! That was awesome! I had no idea you could beat us. I bet I can beat you at a different one, Romano."

Denmark grinned. "Why don't we make a real bet? Every time we try a new bouncy house, we race, and then we count up whoever lost the most, and that nation buys dinner tonight?"

Prussia frowned. "I thought we'd be going to dinner with West and Veneziano. I can't afford to buy five dinners."

"Why the hell do we have to hang out with those sappy bastards? Can you afford to buy three dinners?" Romano was strangely intrigued by this bet. Besides, if it continued to be so easy to beat these two, he'd get a free dinner!

"Uh…yeah, probably. Sure! All right, Denmark, I take your awesome bet." The albino shook Denmark's hand. "What about you, Romano?"

"Sure, bastards, I'm in." He shook hands with both of them. "Which one next?"

"You won, you choose," Denmark offered graciously.

Romano scanned the field and saw a pirate ship with rope rigging. "Pirate ship? Climb up, touch the crow's nest, last one back down to the deck loses?"

"Deal!" yelled Prussia, running off.

"Hey, you stupid potato! Wait up!" Romano chased him, and Denmark chased _him._

And they were all laughing.

…

With his longer legs, Denmark swarmed to the top of the pirate ship rigging very quickly, passing both Prussia and Romano on the way. What a weird day this was turning out to be! Sure, he hadn't had a chance to talk to Prussia about dating, but this was a lot of fun. Hell, he'd waited this long, dating could wait a little longer. He slapped the crow's nest and jumped from there, bouncing onto the ship's deck well before either of the others had made it to the top of the rigging. Denmark lay there watching them climb and thought about this.

It was true he didn't know Romano very well. When he'd seen him before, it had either been with Veneziano (usually yelling) or Spain (usually drinking and yelling). He'd never seen Romano laugh before today. Okay, be fair, world meetings usually weren't very festive and fun. But if you'd asked Denmark yesterday whether he would be willing to spend a day with Romano, he'd have said "Absolutely not." Not from what little he'd known of the foul-mouthed, nasty half-nation.

Before he could think about this too much further, both Prussia and Romano reached the ship's deck, breathing heavily. "All right, fine, bastards, you got me. So I've lost one, and Denmark has lost one." He punched Prussia.

"Kesesese! Guess it doesn't matter if I can afford dinner or not, because I can't lose."

"Bastard. Denmark gets to pick the next one."

"Oh, yeah." He stood up and eyed the field. "Oh! Giant slides. Run up, slide down, come stand at the foot. Last one loses?"

Romano was already off and running.

…

"Fucking wiseass potato. You _are_ going to have to buy dinner." The brunet, triumphant, stood wheezing at the base of the giant slide with Denmark, as Prussia climbed off the inflatable and joined them.

"We're _even,_ " the albino pointed out. "I'm not actually losing yet. But we should set a limit, like, each of us chooses three different ones. Because otherwise the loser will just say 'oh, one more,' and we could be here all night."

"Fine with me." Denmark, who had won this one as well, ran his hands through his hair. "Three each sounds all right. Romano?"

"Cheh, sure. Should we let the potato pick? Even though he lost?"

"Sure. Which one, Prussia?"

"Hm." He turned in place. "Oh, there's a different maze one. Want to do that? Meet at the opposite end?"

"Go!" Denmark yelled, laughing, and they all ran off.

…

"Dammit."

"Ah, calm down, Romano, you can choose the next one." Denmark felt generous.

"What the fuck else is there? Everything else looks like just a basic jumpy thing."

"Well, let's walk around; maybe there are some things we can't see from here." He put an arm around the shoulders of both Prussia and Romano (and was very surprised not to elicit either a punch or some nasty commentary from the latter) and steered them towards the second aisle of inflatables.

…

"Well, that's that, dammit," Romano scowled. They'd completed their nine races; he'd lost four, so he'd be buying dinner. But – and this was the really strange part – he _didn't even care!_ He hadn't done this kind of stuff in a long time, either. He was – maybe – almost? – thinking it was – was _fun_ to hang out with these two? Argh. Romano gave himself a mental headslap. No.

Prussia lay back on the artificial turf, wheezing a little. "Anybody seen West lately?"

Denmark, stretching, gazed around the area. "Can't see him now. Or Veneziano."

"Bastards are probably making out in a fucking inflatable," Romano growled, his good mood instantly gone.

"You can't be serious. West would never do that. He's way too uptight."

Denmark agreed. "Germany may care for your brother a lot, but…not that much!"

"Kesesese! Well, we don't have to wait around for them. Let's go get our awesome dinner." Prussia levered himself off the ground and the three of them, very tired, loped across the grass towards the entrance booths without speaking much.

As they passed through the exit door, an attendant scurried to catch them. "Oh! Excuse me, sir," she said to Prussia, handing him a piece of paper. "The tall gentleman – blond – with the cute Italian boy? – he left you this note."

Prussia took the note and pretended not to hear Romano's growling.

"What's it say?" Denmark craned his neck to read it over Prussia's shoulder.

"Hah. They got bored and left. Well, that's good; we don't have to worry about keeping up with them, or whatever. So, awesome dinner?"

"Don't make a pig of yourself, albino potato, just because I'm buying."

Denmark unlocked his car and they all got in. "You can have shotgun, Romano, since you were such a good sport today and not cranky."

"Uh. Th-thanks, bastard." Romano got into the front seat. He was still a little worried about all this, but he'd roll with it. For now.

"Where are we going to eat? Give me some directions," Denmark specified.

"Not a German restaurant!"

"Romano, are you some kind of idiot? We're in Berlin. Every restaurant is a German restaurant!" Prussia flicked him in the back of the head.

 _"Chigi!"_

…

"Damn, you guys. For an impromptu day, I really had a lot of fun!"

Prussia (riding shotgun again) cackled and rubbed Denmark's hair, in the car on the way back home. "And all you were going to do was bring me my sweater. You picked an awesome day for it, my friend."

Denmark decided to keep mum about the dating thing, for today. He didn't want to make Romano uncomfortable, not when it seemed like maybe he was kind of a good guy after all, underneath all the surface nastiness. "Maybe – maybe we could all do something like this again sometime? Romano?"

"Cheh, I don't mind, as long as there are no fucking potato restaurants on the agenda." Romano grinned nastily and punched Prussia in the arm.

"Hey, I'm flexible," the albino told them. "I'd totally love to do fun things with you guys. This was a really great day!"


	88. The First Prank

**The First Prank.**

"I'm only coming because I don't want Italy turning into a fucking potato bastard playground. If I don't start with some meeting input, we're going to completely lose our national identity." Romano punched his brother in the arm; this meeting was in Florence.

"Ow, ve, well, whatever you say, Romano, but I bet you want to see your friends, too, right?"

"Just shut up!" Romano barked, storming towards the hotel conference room.

The truth was, he wasn't actually sure whether Denmark and Prussia counted as friends or not. That day with the bouncy houses had been fun, and they'd talked about doing something later, but nobody had ever called him about anything. _Chigi!_ When he thought about it, this didn't really surprise him. Nobody wanted to do shit with him these days, except the stupid tomato bastard. But he figured he could come to the meeting – which might look a little strange, but at least there was a logical reason for him to be there – and then see if those two wanted to talk, or do something together. Maybe they'd just been busy. It had only been three weeks.

Maybe the albino potato wouldn't even be here, since he wasn't a nation. Romano slouched into the conference room.

"Kesesese! Hey, Romano! Good to see you. How have you been?" Prussia patted the empty chair next to him. Germany, Estonia and Canada were the only other countries in the room; Veneziano bounced in and headed to the top of the table, next to Germany.

Cheh. Might as well sit next to the albino potato, since he was here. "Yeah, all right, I guess."

"Come to take more of an interest in the meetings? Awesome. Just like Den said. He's pretty smart."

"He comes to the meetings, right?"

"Sure he does. He has to, not like you and me. Maybe we can all go do something after the meeting together. I haven't even talked to him since the bouncy house day."

Romano shrugged, feeling a little less irritable.

America, France and England trudged in together without talking. All three of them looked pretty pissed off. Romano tried to ignore them as more and more nations filtered in, grabbing coffee and breakfast pastries from the side table. "Isn't there any tea here?" England demanded.

"Sorry, no." Veneziano beamed.

"Bloody hell!"

"Kesesese," Prussia whispered to Romano, "don't come between that sour old man and his tea!"

Denmark and Iceland came into the room before Romano could think of any way to respond to that.

"Hey, Prussia!" Denmark immediately ditched Iceland, who went for coffee, and came to sit next to Romano. "And Romano too, cool! I was wondering if you guys would be here. Want to do something tonight?"

Romano shrugged again, trying to be nonchalant, but Prussia high-fived Denmark. "Yes. Romano and I were just talking about that."

"What should we do, though?" Denmark frowned a little, roughing up his spiky hair.

"Ah, don't worry about it, Romano can help us think of something awesome. All right?"

"Sure, bastards. Whatever."

…

They hadn't had a chance to talk all day. "Well, we can just hang out in the hotel tonight and talk about something to do tomorrow. We do have five days. Are you actually going to be here for the entire week of meetings, Romano?" Denmark smiled encouragingly.

"Cheh, yes. What would be the point of coming for only part of the week? You were right," he blushed, looking away, "I've got to stop the fucking potato bastard from taking over my country. Even if it's indirectly."

Denmark sneaked a glance at Prussia to see if this oblique insult registered, but the albino was just smiling his usual crazy smile. "Ah, come on. Let's go get something to eat."

…

In the hotel restaurant, which doubled as a bar, most of the other nations were sitting around drinking or eating. "What do you bastards want to drink?" Romano asked, heading to the bar.

"Beer!"

"What the hell, beer's good enough," Denmark laughed, handing Romano some cash. He watched the brunet walk to the bar. "Hey." He jabbed Prussia with an elbow. "Let's not get drunk tonight, all right?"

"Kesesese, we can try, but you know how we are. Even Romano, whenever I see him with my pal Spain, he's almost always drunk." There was a bowl of popcorn on the table which they began to eat.

"Well, but if he – " Denmark interrupted himself as Romano returned with their drinks. "What are _you_ drinking?"

"Club soda. I never feel right getting drunk when I'm the meeting host."

Prussia gave him a funny look. "What are you talking about? You never _are_ the meeting host."

"Shut up, albino potato." Romano punched him in the arm and drank his club soda very quickly; the other two sipped their beer. Veneziano waggled his fingers across the room at his brother, who scowled in response.

"We should play a prank on someone," Prussia then decided.

"I don't mind, but what?" Denmark loved to pull pranks.

"Cheh. First you have to figure out who you want to prank, stupid." Romano finished his drink and sat back.

"What do you mean 'who _you_ want to prank'? Aren't you going to help?" Prussia kicked him under the table.

"Yeah, come on, Romano. I bet you have some pretty good nasty ideas for pranks." Denmark grinned, and Romano smirked in response.

"Well. If I wanted to prank anybody it would be the stupid tomato bastard."

Prussia looked around for Spain. "Aha, he's over with Holland."

"You mean Netherlands!" Denmark laughed.

"Yeah, but I call him Holland once in a while just because it pisses him off, kesesese."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Romano asked the air.

"Whatever, though. What kind of prank should we pull on him?" Prussia finished the popcorn in the bowl.

Romano stared at them both in astonishment. "You bastards are willing to prank Spain just because I want to do it?"

"Sure! Why not? We just have to come up with something awesome. We should probably do him and France together. They would never suspect me, kesesese, and so they would never suspect you guys, since you're sitting with me."

"All right, well, let's think."

Silence reigned as they thought.

"How are your elevators?" Denmark asked Romano.

"What? What do you mean? They're just like everybody else's elevators! What did you think, we have fucking elves pulling the ropes or something, idiot?"

This made both his friends laugh. "No, I just meant, how reliable are they? Do they ever get stuck?"

Prussia began to snicker. "You want to lock France and Spain in a broken elevator? But that won't be much of a prank. They probably wouldn't even care."

"Bastards'd be groping each other the whole time anyway," Romano agreed.

"Hmm." Denmark thought about this. "Not if there was somebody else in there with them."

"Kesesese! Then they'd just double-team the other guy!"

But Romano had a calculating look in his eye as he stared across the restaurant. "What if it was someone they were both afraid of?"

The other two swiveled their heads to check out the nation Romano had in mind. "Liechtenstein?" Denmark asked, completely puzzled.

"Switzerland!" Prussia and Romano chorused; Prussia added a flick to Den's forehead.

"Oh _. Oh!_ "

The three friends put their heads together over the table, and planning began in earnest.

…

France swam up out of a drunken stupor, clutching his head and groaning. The comforting smell of tomatoes was nearby, so he knew Spain was with him; he felt the warm body in his arms. " _Merde_ ," he groaned aloud, trying to focus. "Where are we?"

But Spain did not respond. France squeezed a little tighter.

"Ow! Stop squeezing me!"

Oops. That wasn't Spain's voice. That was –

Switzerland sat up very quickly and reached for the gun he kept at his waist. France froze, but the holster appeared to be empty. "Where is my pistol?" The Alpine nation looked around in a panic.

France spared a moment to look, too. Spain was with them, he saw, but the brunet nation was lying on the floor, his head pillowed on an empty tequila bottle, and he was snoring. "I don't know where your pistol is, _Suisse_ ," France managed to croak out.

Switzerland then patted his ankle. Ankle holster? France wondered, and began panicking again.

But apparently that was empty too. "Where are all my guns?" Switzerland seemed even more frenetic than usual and started shaking France, who still wasn't thinking straight.

"I don't have your guns, _Suisse_! Stop shaking me. I'm going to be sick."

In quick succession Switzerland checked both his underarm holsters, his other ankle, and the thigh holster on his right leg, and they were all empty. "Damn it. Even my rifle is missing!"

Now that France knew Switzerland was unarmed, he was a lot less panicky. " _Suisse,_ calm down, maybe you lost them somewhere?"

"Lost them? _Lost_ them? Six pistols and a rifle? They don't just get up and walk away, you brainless idiot!" He began to throttle France, who feebly fought back, coughing.

But Spain began to stir, distracting them both. "Eh, _Francia_ , what are you yelling about?" He began to sit up.

"Switzerland has lost his –" He and Switzerland both froze as Spain sat upright, revealing a small cache of firearms lying on the floor, between him and the wall.

"What the hell are you doing with my guns?" Switzerland screeched, diving for them, grabbing the nearest one, and aiming it at the ceiling. Terrified, both France and Spain covered their heads with their arms, as the Alpine nation pulled the trigger six times, rapidly.

Resulting in six quiet clicks. "Empty?" he yelled. He grabbed the rest of the pistols; after testing some more, discovering they were empty, he stood up and angrily shoved them into the appropriate holsters. Then he turned to Spain in anger. "Damn you, Spain! What have you done with all my ammunition?" He kicked the brunet.

Spain and France had wedged themselves into the corner, holding each other and gibbering in fear. "I don't know, _Suiza_! I don't even know how we got here! I drank too much, _amigo_ ," he then admitted.

"I'm not your _amigo!"_ Switzerland was still holding his Luger, and he reflexively pulled the trigger.

 _BAM_. A bullet whizzed past Spain's ear and lodged itself in the wall of the elevator. Spain and France both screamed in terror.

Switzerland ignored the screams and examined the gun; his grin growing manic, he then rapidly fired off the remaining shots, as if to vent his frustration. "Tell me what happened!" he bellowed, punctuating each word with a shot to the ceiling. Plaster flakes rained down on the three nations.

"We really don't know, _Suisse_ ," France whimpered, and just then the elevator began to move.

"What the fuck!" Switzerland pulled the trigger again, but he was out of ammunition once more, and threw the pistol at France, who ducked; the Luger bounced off the wall and back towards the flustered Switzerland. "Why are we in an elevator? _What the hell is going on?"_

" _Francia, Francia_ ," Spain groaned.

Switzerland kicked him again. "Shut up."

The elevator slowed to a halt and the doors gently slid open. France and Spain scrambled to get out, to get away from Switzerland, but hastily detoured around something in the hallway.

Seeing this pile of items, Switzerland hissed, "You bastards!" He knelt to pick up his rifle and the heart-shaped pile of bullets in the middle of the hallway. "I'll get you for this, you drunken menaces!" He reloaded his Luger and took aim at France's retreating back before his cool common sense returned. Gritting his teeth, Switzerland holstered the gun, checked to make sure he had everything of his that had gone missing, and turned to find his hotel room.

But after two more steps he spun in place and fired a bullet – just one, just to calm him down – past France's ear, shattering a hall lamp. "Help!" France whined pitifully, letting go of Spain and darting down the stairwell. Spain hurried after him.

When the stairwell door had slammed shut, Switzerland put the Luger back into the holster once again and walked calmly to his hotel room, a beatific smile on his face.

...

Down in the security room, three pairs of eyes gleefully watched all this activity on the hotel's monitors. "Dammit. That was the best prank I've ever heard of. You bastards _rock_."

"That was awesome indeed, my friends."

"Cool! Let's do another one tomorrow."


	89. The Second Prank

**The Second Prank.**

Romano was still pretty amused about last night's prank when he came into the hotel the next day. Knowing Spain's hangovers as well as he did, the half-nation made it a point to ask the catering staff to bring extra coffee, espresso, and a bottle of aspirin to the meeting room. "Oh, and some tea, too, if we have it," he grumbled. Might as well shut the tea bastard up so he wouldn't pick on Veneziano anymore.

Once inside the meeting room he waved at his _fratello_ , who was smarming up to the potato bastard as expected. Prussia sat grinning at the world in general, so Romano walked over and sat with him. No sign of Denmark yet. "Hey, bastard," Romano said, punching Prussia in the shoulder.

"Hey yourself, kesesese. Did you see France or Spain yet today? Or Switzerland?"

"Not yet. I'm wondering if they'll even make it downstairs today. Cheh. Those stupid bastards. That was an outstanding prank."

"I'm just glad we were able to get into the security room," his friend hissed.

Denmark came in alone today and slipped into the seat flanking Romano. "Any sign of our hung-over friends yet?" he laughed.

"Not yet." But then, behind the newly-arrived England, both Spain and France stumbled into the room, not quite moaning, but not as chipper as they usually were. All three of them headed towards the breakfast buffet.

" _What_?" England yelled, turning to Veneziano. "You couldn't manage tea _today_ , even though I asked about it yesterday? Bloody hell."

Before Romano could say anything, two of the hotel's servers wheeled a cart into the room. Seeing Veneziano at the podium, they smiled; one girl said, "Here are the extra things you requested."

"Extra things?" North Italy asked, puzzled.

"The aspirin and extra espresso," she said, pushing the cart to the table to unload it.

"And the tea," the other girl added.

Romano shot a glance at his _fratello_ , who smiled at him sweetly. Ah, Romano felt pretty good today already, what the hell; he smiled brilliantly back at his brother for a second or two...

…until the barking, hoarse voice of France cried out, "Aspirin! _Mon dieu_!" He grabbed the bottle from the server and yanked the lid off, spilling aspirin into both his hand and Spain's.

"Give me some of those," Switzerland, behind him, hissed. France yelped and fumbled the bottle, spilling aspirin all over the floor.

This seemed to jerk several people to awareness. England took his tea to a seat near America; Spain fled to a chair far from Switzerland; and Denmark, Romano and Prussia all began to stifle giggles.

"Ve, everybody, please settle down! We need to start the meeting or we'll run overtime!" Veneziano tapped on the table with a pencil, which didn't do much to gain their attention.

" _Sit down and shut the hell up!_ " Germany yelled, galvanizing everyone into movement.

Ten seconds later every nation in the room was seated and at attention. "Ve, thank you all," North Italy breathed. "Let's start the meeting."

…

"Who are we going to prank tonight?"

"One of you bastards can pick, since I picked Spain yesterday."

"America's always good for that sort of thing," Prussia pointed out.

Denmark scanned the room. "Where is he? He's usually with England."

All three of them looked around, but the former empire was nowhere to be seen. America, however, stood at the bar, chatting with great animation to Japan.

"Wonder what it would be like to prank Japan?" Denmark wondered.

"What do you know about him, bastard? Since he's such good friends with your stupid brother."

"Dunno. I mean, they always go to Japan's place. West and Veneziano do, I mean. I really don't know the guy well."

"Cheh. Ignorant bastard. Why don't you pester him like you do everybody else?"

"Man, if he's anything like West, I'm not going to try to pester him! You know how fierce my brother can be."

Denmark and Romano nodded in agreement. "Well?" the brunet then asked. "Are we going to pull a prank on America or what?"

"Sure. Let's think. What's he afraid of? Not Switzerland."

"Ghosts," Prussia nodded. "Definitely ghosts."

"Well, that's just stupid, bastard, because I'm not dressing up in a fucking sheet just to scare him!" The three friends laughed at this idea.

Denmark drank some of his drink. "Don't worry. We'll think of something good. Who's he rooming with?"

"Not Iggy; he's in with West. Maybe Japan? Romano, is there a way you can find out?"

"Cheh, yes, just sit tight, I'll be back. Anything else you want to know, stupid?"

"Yeah! Are they giving out free beer tonight? Kesesese!"

…

America wandered back to his hotel room chatting with Denmark, who was in the room next door. Surprisingly, the heroic nation been assigned a room all to himself. This was kind of depressing. He loved hanging out with his friends. But Iggy had been a real bastard to him last month, completely declining to share a room, and almost everyone else had been assigned roommates by that point. His room and Denmark's (which the Nordic nation was sharing with Greece) had connecting doors, but he wasn't close enough to either of those nations to suggest they open the connecting doors and hang out. Ah, no big deal. He could be alone for a while. He said good night to Denmark as they opened their doors.

"See you soon, America," the Dane said pleasantly.

Inside his room, America kicked off his boots and took off his bomber jacket, throwing it carelessly on a bed. A quick flick of the bedside lamp's switch helped, and he was able to putter around a little more efficiently.

Hm. Sounded like a stormy night; he could hear tree branches scratching against his hotel window. America shivered. Sometimes storms bothered him.

Wait. He was on the fourteenth floor! No trees grew that high. He shivered again and started talking to himself. It couldn't possibly be a _ghost_. "It's not a ghost," he told himself aloud. "It must just be that a tree branch _broke_ , and blew up here and – landed on my balcony? And it's scratching on the window in the storm." That was bizarre, but not entirely impossible.

America was heroic; he'd deal with it. Maybe it was some kind of bird trapped on the balcony in the storm? He drew a deep breath and walked to the big sliding doors, throwing the curtains open with a big, dramatic gesture.

Huh. There was no storm. It was a clear, calm night, and the stars were bright. He forced himself to look around the balcony, but in the dark he couldn't make anything out. Maybe it had just been a passing bird that bonked into his window and flew off. Yeah.

Then he heard a moaning noise coming from _inside his room!_ "Aah!" he yelled, not quite daring to turn around. America pressed closer to the balcony doors. The dark, cold balcony doors, that had something mysterious scratching on them.

No, he had to be a man about this! Imagine if Iggy ever found out. The old man would never shut up about it. It couldn't be _moaning._ It was probably just a – a maid running a vacuum cleaner, yes, most likely.

At midnight.

America slowly turned around and glanced around the room. Nothing. Very carefully, he walked to every light switch in the place and turned it on, until his fourteenth-floor hotel room was ablaze.

As he switched on the last light, near the desk, he heard the moaning again and jumped. It – it sounded like it was coming from the bathroom.

The dark, dark bathroom.

The hero tiptoed towards the bathroom, wishing he'd kept his boots on, in case he had to flee, but too afraid to stop and put them on now, in case _something_ got him while he was doing it! "Oh," he moaned weakly, raising a fist to his mouth. Why, oh, why didn't he have a roommate to help with this?

He leapt around the corner and flicked the bathroom light switch on. "Aha!" he yelled to the obviously empty bathroom.

Okay. He'd had a lot to drink. And he'd been overdoing it with the nation work lately, he knew. This was probably all just a figment of his overworked, possibly drunk, brain. He walked back out into the main room, determined to be strong.

But he left the bathroom light on, just in case.

America then heard the scratching noise on his balcony again. "Damn it," he hissed to himself in a quavering voice, trying to sound like an angry, studly man, and failing. He sat on the bed, trying to guess what to do next.

Well, he could close the curtains. That might cut down on the noise. He slipped over to the windows and drew the curtains shut, and as he did, the moaning behind him started up again.

"Aah!" He took a flying leap into the middle of one of the hotel beds and covered himself with the quilt. This was too scary!

Nothing happened for several minutes. Tentatively he peeked his blond head out from the quilt; the room was just as before: empty, and very brightly-lit. With another deep breath, America pushed the quilt away. He knew he was just imagining things. If there had been something on the balcony, it wouldn't have randomly stopped. It would have kept scratching.

Now he wondered whether there was someone in the hallway moaning. Maybe a drunken nation? Probably. But did he dare to look?

Of course he did! He was Alfred F. Jones, the hero, the United States of America! He jumped off the bed and strode manfully towards the door, flinging it open with a forced grin.

The hallway was empty.

Behind him, America heard the scratching at the window. He slammed the door shut and pressed his fist to his mouth again. Then he backed up until the hotel room door was flush up against his back – so nothing – nobody – could sneak up on him. "Haha," he tried to laugh, to man up, but it came out as a weak, frightened gasp.

But this was ridiculous. He could see the room was totally empty, except for him, and he was big and strong and could handle anybody.

Except _ghosts._

He heard the moaning one more time, a little louder, and it was right in his room, he knew it. Oh, what to do, what to do?

Suddenly there was a fierce rattling from the balcony. Like something was shaking the doors, trying to get in! America didn't care if he had boots on or not, if Iggy found out later or not, but he _had to get out of this room!_ He opened the door and ran out into the still-empty hallway. What should he do? Well, first he needed to trap the – the _thing_ , so he slammed shut the door to his room.

Ah – Denmark! Denmark was probably still awake; he'd let him in. He scooted over and hammered on the Dane's hotel room door. "Denmark, Denmark, it's me, America, please let me in! Please!"

Denmark opened the door with a pleasant grin, which faded as America scrambled into the room. "What's the matter with you, America?" He walked back to the desk, where he'd apparently been looking up sightseeing information.

America stood quaking and wheezing for a moment, holding up his hand for silence. Denmark sat at the desk and waited.

Just then Romano came in through the connecting door. "Hey, Den," he said nonchalantly, grinning. "Oh! Hi, America. How are you, bastard?"

"T-t-t-terrible," America moaned. "I think there was a gh-gh-ghost on my b-b-b-balcony. Or – or in my _room_!"

"Here, sit down." Denmark led him to the bed and America sat down, trying to get a grip. Romano got him a glass of water, but his hand was shaking so much he dropped it; the brunet picked up the glass with a shrug and put it away.

Prussia, dressed in a black overcoat with a black knit hat on, wandered in from the balcony holding a long-handled umbrella. "America! Kesesese! What are you doing here?"


	90. Denmark Makes His Move

**Denmark Makes His Move.**

"Well, damn, that was actually a pretty interesting week of meetings," Denmark said, punching Prussia.

"Pretty interesting week of _pranks_ ," the albino countered in a low tone, since Switzerland was nearby. "Let's get together and do something soon."

"Sure, bastards. Just give me a call. I – I had fun, too," Romano admitted with a blush, turning away and scrubbing his hand over his face.

"Kesesese! All right, we'll see you!" Prussia and Denmark moved to Denmark's car as Romano headed back into the hotel. "Thanks for offering me a ride, Den. It beats having to sit in a car with West and listen to his annoying lectures the whole way back."

Denmark patted him on the hair. "Always happy to spend time with the Awesome Prussia."

"Aw. You really are too good to me."

Denmark put the car in gear and drove off. He figured he'd wait a little while before asking Prussia for a date. The drive was long, and if Prussia said no –

"So anyway," the albino said, looking out the window, "we should think of something fun to do with Romano again, but not at a meeting. Maybe go out drinking sometime, or to a club."

"Sure." Well, what the hell, he figured. "You know, I wouldn't mind hanging out with you, without Romano, once in a while."

"What? Den, that's super harsh. I know Romano's a bit of a bastard, but – but –"

Oops. Denmark hadn't realized that's how his comment would come across. "Uh, I, I didn't mean it that way."

"What, then? Oh! You want to go out on a date with me? Kesesese!" Prussia began laughing. "Man, I wish."

The blond was struck dumb. Apparently Prussia felt a bit embarrassed about what he'd said, because he stopped laughing, blushed, and turned to look out the window again.

"Uh, well, yeah," Denmark replied, feeling kind of lame, but not sure how to get the conversation back on track.

"Yeah what? You _do_ want to go out on a date with me?" Prussia turned back in astonishment.

"Well, yes! I've been trying to find the right time to ask you since, oh, probably around the time you lost your nation status. But you're always hanging out with so many other friends, I wasn't sure I should even bother asking."

"Friends, hah. You heard what I said. I pester them so they don't forget me."

Now Denmark was irritated. Was Prussia going to answer him or not? Before he could work himself into anger, the albino turned to him with a soft smile. "You surprise me a lot, Denmark. I'd be very happy to go on a date with you." Then in his normal tone of voice: " _Lots_ of dates! Kesesese! It would be super fun to go out with you." He clapped his hands together.

The Dane felt as if he were riding some kind of emotional roller coaster. "Prussia, you – you drive me nuts," he laughed.

His friend's face fell. "Does that mean you don't really want to date me?"

"Are you only saying yes so that I don't forget about you? Like you pester everybody else? Or would you really want to go out, be boyfriends, and all that?"

"Huh. I didn't even think of doing it just to pester you. I've been attracted to you for a long time, but you were always with Norway! If you're not going to get back together with him, I'd totally date you, be your boyfriend, or whatever. You're the most fun nation in Europe."

Denmark looked taken aback. "You're serious?"

"Well, Iggy has his moments, but they're pretty few and far between; he's so sour most of the time. Yes. It's definitely you."

"This is the weirdest conversation I've ever had."

"Tell me about it!"

They drove in silence for quite a while; Denmark thought about all this. It wasn't the romantic scenario he'd envisioned, but perhaps driving a car precluded any real romance. "Uh…so are we dating now, or what?"

"Kesesese! Yes, let's. But – but there is something I'd like to ask. A favor." Prussia turned serious.

"You can ask me any favor you want!" Denmark ruffled his hair.

"Well. I – I really do want to go out with you, Den, to be your boyfriend and all that, but – I think we should keep it secret for a little while."

"What? Why?" Was Prussia too embarrassed to be seen with him?

"Well. You know, I really like hanging out with you and Romano together now. You know? We have a lot of fun, a lot more fun than I would have expected. I mean, I would have expected to have fun with _you_ in any case, but it – it's kind of surprising to think about having fun with the vicious little – bastard. About him relaxing like that around us." He chuckled. "And we haven't all been hanging out for very long. If we start dating, it might – might make him upset, because he'd feel like the third wheel. And I don't want him to feel bad. And I don't want him to stop doing stuff with us just because he feels that way." Prussia nodded.

"That's surprisingly empathetic of you."

"That's how I feel around West and Veneziano," the albino admitted with a shrug. "What I mean is, even though I wouldn't really choose to hang out with them, the three of us end up doing a lot of things together, and _I_ always feel like the third wheel with _them_. I think Romano does too, when he's with them. It would totally suck to have him feel that way about you and me."

"I agree," Denmark said. "You're a lot more thoughtful than you let on."

"Hah. There's a lot about me I don't share with the public."

Denmark pulled the car over to the side of the road.

"What? Den, what's wrong? Is something wrong with the car? What happened?"

Prussia in a panic was very funny. Denmark laughed at him a little. "Come here," he said, beckoning his friend closer.

"Aha!" the albino crowed, leaning over. They shared a quick kiss, in Denmark's car, on the side of the road. "Aw. You really are so sweet. You just couldn't wait to kiss me, right? Kesesese!"

"Idiot. I've wanted you for a long time, too, but we were always at war." He moved the car into traffic. "Want to stay over tonight?"

"Yeah! Awesome. Take me home first so I can pack a bag. And we should get some cupcakes."

"It's going to be tough to keep this a secret," Denmark then confessed. "I want to tell everybody."

"Eh. Save it. You can pour sweet nothings into my ear all night."

"Yeah, that'll work. Cool."

They drove off towards Berlin.


	91. The Beginning

**The Beginning.**

"I do love your place, Den. Could we have a fire tonight?"

Denmark looked at his new boyfriend in surprise. "It's _May._ Why do you want a fire?"

"Oh." Prussia's face fell. "Yeah, I wasn't thinking about that. I just – well – fires are so romantic, you know, to cuddle up and…eat our cupcakes, kesesese."

"We can go sit on the back deck? Nice sunsets out there. Pretty romantic, and I have a big deck chair we could sit on together."

Prussia immediately swanned his way across the room and pressed right up against Denmark. "Excellent idea, Den," he murmured seductively, with a subtle grin. "Don't forget the beer."

Denmark pecked a kiss on his lips. It was too strange to talk about dating while they were simultaneously discussing beer and cupcakes! "Once again your commitment to romance amazes me. Go sit on the deck. I'll bring everything out."

"Awesome!"

…

Denmark was going to force Prussia to calm down tonight. He completely understood the albino's nature, having known him for so long, and he knew that all this random, high-spirited, non-romantic chitchat was simply the way he was. But it was indeed a nice night, and tonight he was going to make Prussia calm down, snuggle up, and…drink beer with cupcakes. Den snorted, but brought the things to the back deck.

Prussia grinned up at him from the two-man deck chair. "I like this chair. We don't have any like this. Come and sit!"

Denmark sat, handing his friend the bag of cupcakes and wrapping his arm around Prussia's shoulders. "Soon be sunset," he murmured with a grin, lips brushing the white hair.

Prussia unwrapped a cupcake, and Denmark rolled his eyes. All right. The romance would have to wait. He let go and reached for the beer, opening one each for them. "Awesome," Prussia sighed again, taking a bottle and leaning back against the seat. "Share my cupcake with me, Den."

Surprised, the tall blond smiled and then quickly leaned in, keeping his eyes on Prussia's, and took a bite, licking his lips afterwards. "Hey, these aren't bad," he realized, surprising himself.

"Told you! Cherry cupcakes are excellent with lager." Prussia ate and drank.

Denmark tried some lager to wash down the cupcake. It was somewhat weird. "You really have this all the time? It's a bizarre combo." Damn it, he was getting distracted again.

"Ach, no. West thinks it's too weird, so he won't let me get cupcakes very often. I tried baking them a couple times, but…I guess I've been hanging around Iggy too much; my baking skills suck. So most of the time I just have beer, and daydream about cupcakes. Thanks, Den. It's really good of you to indulge me this way." He took Denmark's near hand and lifted it to his lips for a kiss.

Well. Maybe Denmark wouldn't have to do much forcing. But sitting there with a beer in one hand and Prussia in the other, as it were, wasn't quite the vision he'd had. He set the bottle on the little deck table and put his arms around Prussia. "I don't mind indulging you in the matter of cupcakes," he grinned, "or even cupcakes and beer together. I told you, I've wanted to be with you for a long time, and I'm glad we finally worked it out."

"Oh, me too, Den," Prussia said happily, snuggling up close, lifting his arms to wrap them around Denmark's neck. "Me too."

As their lips met, Denmark thought that maybe cupcakes and beer was a taste worth acquiring.


	92. Sowing Good Karma

**Sowing Good Karma.**

 _I've Got the World on a String. (_ Frank Sinatra, 1953)

"Hello, sweetie," Prussia said, climbing into Denmark's car and giving him a nice sweet kiss. "Miss me?"

Denmark grinned. "How could I miss you? I just saw you yesterday, you know."

"Well, but still." The albino buckled his seat belt. "Let's go! This is going to be so much fun. I hope Iggy's in a good mood. It's forever since we went drinking with him."

"Did you call Romano?"

"Yeah, but nobody answered. Too bad, because he really is a lot of fun when we're together! Maybe he's got caller ID and thought it was West. Ah, don't worry about it. We can call him next weekend." Denmark drove off. The Fail Brothers were meeting in a club in Brussels tonight for some long-overdue drinking. All three of them were looking forward to it.

"So, anything exciting happen since yesterday?" Prussia asked, putting his feet up on the dashboard.

"Don't mess up my car! No. Nothing exciting. Why? Something exciting happen to you?"

"Nope. Well, except that we decided to go drinking, but you knew about that. I've never been to this club. Have you?"

"Yeah, once, couple years ago, with Sweden and Finland. Man, that was a night. I drank so much…got in a fight with Sweden. Well, I say a fight. I fought. He just sat there."

"Kesesese! Wish I could have seen that."

"Hah. If he's there tonight, I'll pick another fight, just for you, all right? How's that?"

Prussia pinched his cheek. "Denmark, you are the absolute best."

…

 _Savoy Truffle._ (The Beatles, 1968)

England was already at a table with ale in front of him when they found him. "Hey, man," Denmark said, sliding into the other side of the booth. Prussia slipped into the seat next to the island nation, giving him a one-armed hug.

"Hey," he said. "Thought you gits wouldn't show."

"Iggy! You can't possibly be drunk already."

England snorted. "You're right, I can't possibly be. Get me another drink." He waved the waitress over. "Vodka tonic," he said.

"Yeah, same all around." Denmark pulled out his wallet.

When they all had new drinks in hand, Prussia raised his glass in a toast. "Nice to see you, my awesome friends. Been too long."

"Amen," England said, downing most of his drink in one go.

"Wow. Nation work getting you down?" Den asked him.

"No. Just – just feeling bloody depressed, that's all."

"Don't be depressed. Drink some more."

"Hah. Right, like that's going to help." England polished off the rest of the drink and leaned back against the booth seat. "What have you two been up to? Saw you all sneaking around at that last meeting together, with – with – ah, with R-Romano," he said weakly, picking up the empty glass and trying to slurp up the last few drops.

"Kesesese! Yeah, we're all right. I've been teaching Den about the power of cherry cupcakes."

England choked on his drink. "You've got to be joking. Don't do it, Denmark. The wanker tried to get me to do that cupcakes-and-lager thing once and I was ill for a whole bloody week."

But Denmark laughed at him and ruffled his hair across the table. "Don't worry. I think it's a pretty delicious combo."

The island nation gave him a disbelieving stare, and Prussia laughed and hugged him again. "Drink up, Iggy. West gave me a bunch of money, so I'll treat."

"Does he know what you're doing tonight?"

"Huh, I hope not. If he finds out I blew the wad on booze he'll kill me."

England raised a hand and pointed across the bar, where Germany and Veneziano sat cuddled together. Both he and Den started laughing.

"Damn." Prussia tried to crouch down in the seat and hide, which just made his two companions laugh even more.

"Don't worry about it, git. I can afford my own drinks." England waved to the waitress again.

"My awesome friend," Prussia announced, wrapping his arm around England's shoulders again, "will _you_ pay for _my_ drinks?"

…

 _Just What I Needed._ (The Cars, 1978)

"So what's been going on with you gits? Anything fun?"

"Ah, well, nothing to speak of," Denmark said hastily, ordering a round of beers. "Weather's been nice."

"Too bad summer's over," Prussia sighed. "We didn't spend enough time at the beach this year."

Denmark agreed, but England was now listening to the music, tapping his fingers on the table. "Uh, are you seriously all right, England?"

"What? What?" The island nation turned his attention back to his friends. "I'm fine! What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"Well, nothing, I guess. You seem really out of it."

"Kesesese! He still hasn't had enough to drink!" The waitress brought their drinks. "Drink up, Iggy."

"Don't call me Iggy," he grumbled, but drank.

"This band isn't bad." Denmark set his bottle aside and turned in the booth to look at said band. "I mean, they're not as good as we are, but…" He hummed along with the song.

"Nobody's as good as we are, Den." Prussia blew him a kiss, and then seemed to remember that this violated his 'don't let them know we're dating' rule. He hurriedly bent his face towards the beer bottle on the table and Denmark laughed at him, because England hadn't even been paying attention.

"Should we go up there and play something?" the Dane then asked.

"Nah. I don't feel like it, somehow." England pushed his glass around on the table.

"How much have you been drinking, anyway?"

"Not that much, wanker. Shut it."

"Whatever you say, whatever you say."

…

 _Lonely in Your Nightmare._ (Duran Duran, 1982)

"Let's go dance." Prussia tugged on the morose England's arm.

"You go. Let me drink."

"Kesesese! You're going to be in big trouble tomorrow! Come on, Den, let's go dance."

"Why the hell not," Denmark sighed, and they got up to dance; England ordered himself another drink.

"He's in a weird mood," Prussia noted, before they reached the dance floor.

Denmark was thoughtful. "Yeah. Uh, hey – better watch out, Germany's looking this way."

"No problem. He won't care if I'm here, as long as he doesn't think I'm spending all his money. Come on." The music changed to a lively, fast song, and they began headbanging together, waving at Germany and Veneziano, and sometimes at the unseeing England.

…

 _Everybody Hurts._ (R.E.M., 2003)

When they got back to the table their friend was resting his chin on its top, drawing circles in spilled beer with his finger. "Hi," he said morosely.

"Man, Iggy, are you going to be like this all night? It's _hours_ to closing time!" Prussia pointed out.

"Eh."

"This sucks. I'm going to go get us some drinks." The albino loped off to the bar.

"Seriously, man, what's with you?" Denmark was somewhat concerned. Sure, England had his down days, but normally at a bar he'd be drinking and whooping it up with his friends, making a ruckus; tonight all he'd seemed to do was mope.

"Eh." Keeping his chin on the table, he turned his big green eyes to his taller friend. "Only I have a crush on somebody and I don't know what to do about it." Then he blushed and rested his forehead on the table.

Denmark blinked. He hoped it wasn't _him_ – or Prussia! He asked about this and received a derisive snort in response. The waitress brought some drinks. "Courtesy of your pale friend," she laughed, walking away.

Their conversation was interrupted by the band's singer, who announced, "I'd like to turn over the microphone to some of our awesome guests." England and Denmark swiveled to face the stage, where Prussia and Veneziano were gleefully waving to everyone.

"Bollocks, now what." England knocked back his drink.

"Nobody ever knows what he's thinking," Denmark agreed. Well – _he_ did, of course, now that he and Prussia were dating, but he wasn't going to tell England that. Especially with the island nation being in the grip of some sad romance drama. "Tell me about your crush." He tried to be cheerful, to pull England out of his doldrums.

"I don't know," the shorter blond moaned. "I just don't know what to do about it. Don't know if I should do _anything_ about it. He's always so – " Here he seemed to catch himself and stopped talking, trying to get more liquor out of his empty glass. "And I'm so –"

Prussia and Veneziano began singing _a cappella_. "In Hell…all the cooks would be British…"

England snorted, but didn't speak, half listening and half daydreaming. Denmark listened to the song, idly wondering whether Germany felt that his lover Veneziano was heavenly. This made him chuckle a little; luckily England wasn't paying attention, or he might have taken offense.

Of course, Veneziano had a brother. Denmark idly wondered whether _he_ was heavenly; this made him laugh out loud. Romano might be fun, might be an effective prankster, but…heavenly? The Heavenly Bastard! He laughed again.

"What are you laughing at, git?" England put his head down on the table.

"Nothing. Sorry." Poor England. He always found it hard to get together with others, being an island nation. Too bad, because he really was a lot of fun when they got together. Well, usually.

"Now what?"

"Ah – ah – " An idea was blossoming in Denmark's mind.

No, it would never work. Both of them were too uptight.

But if it _could_ work –?

He could make it work! Couldn't he? Well, he could certainly give them a push in the right direction. "You, ah," he started, not quite sure how to phrase it. "You aren't comfortable with, ah, romance?"

"Eh. Don't really have a lot of experience with it."

"All your lovers will be Italian! Wahoo!" Veneziano shouted on the stage, jumping to hug Prussia, who spun him around, grinning. Denmark spared a quick second to look at Germany, who was hiding his face in his hands. Ha ha.

"Why don't you take romance lessons from somebody?" Denmark flagged down the waitress again and ordered six drinks. Might as well. It would save a little time.

" _Romance_ lessons? You mean like sex?" England raised his head in disbelief and wrinkled his nose. "How bloody idiotic." Then he put his chin back on the table and hiccupped.

"That's not what I meant at all. I meant learning to be a gallant lover. Someone your crush will appreciate." He watched his friend out of the corner of his eye.

"Where the hell would I learn something like that? And, and," he continued weakly, pathetically, "you don't think I'm sk-skilled enough to manage it myself?" He drummed his fingers on the table.

"If you're moping around like this over your 'crush,' then maybe you _aren't_ skilled enough. But you know, I bet Romano could help."

England's fingers paused fractionally in their drumming but started up again immediately. "Why him?" he asked, after a beat.

"Why not him?" He pointed to the stage, where Veneziano and Prussia were waving to the crowd, having finished their duet. "He's an expert, right? 'All your lovers will be Italian'? I bet he kisses like a demon." Denmark actually grinned at that, but England still wasn't looking at him.

"Eh." Hiccup.

"So, I'll tell you what. Romano and I have gotten to be pretty good friends lately. Why don't I take you over to his place on Saturday and maybe he can give you some pointers about what to do?"

" _Denmark_ …"

"I'm being serious here. It might help, right? Probably couldn't hurt. So, are we on for Saturday?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Romance lessons with Romano!" He beamed, and England looked up again.

"Whatever…" The island nation's voice drifted off and he closed his eyes. "Here comes the bloody albino nuisance."

Denmark decided not to mention this to Prussia. If it backfired, he certainly didn't want to take the blame.

…

 _Feel Good Inc._ (Gorillaz, 2006)

"Come on, Iggy, don't be so sour. Come and dance with me."

England raised his head from the table and smiled sweetly. "Sure, git. I don't mind at all." The two of them went to the dance floor, waving at Germany and Veneziano on the way, and began jumping around.

Denmark put his chin in his hand, smiling fondly at his dancing friends. Wouldn't it be great if his idea worked?

Sure it would.


	93. Going to California

_Flashbacks over!_

 _..._

 **Going to California.**

"Hey! Hi!" Prussia hurried across the aisle to the gate, where Denmark and Romano were already seated. "How are you guys?" He dropped his carry-on and bent to hug them both. "I'm glad you didn't pick me up today, Den; I was a mess, couldn't get my right wardrobe packed, nothing. West is really pissed off, kesesese. But I'm glad I had my cool free Danish suitcase! The wheels made it really easy to maneuver. I must have been the last nation in the world who didn't have a wheeled suitcase. Thanks, Den. Where's Arthur? I'm so excited. This is going to be an excellent vacation! You guys want any coffee? I'm going to go get some."

He paused for breath and Romano jumped into the gap. "Shut up."

Denmark laughed at them both. "I can see this is going to be a hell of a vacation already." He stood up and gave Prussia a proper hug. "I'm glad you got here okay, West or no West."

"No West is better," the brunet mumbled, just loud enough for them to pretend to ignore him.

"Come with me, Den, I'll get coffee. Romano, you want anything?"

"Sure, bastard. Bring me an espresso."

"That's _it?_ No iced extra hot peppermint foam whip stuff?" Prussia poked him. "They have a cool new one, Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappuccino."

"No, dammit! Just a plain espresso, all right? No. Make it a double. I'm going to need it." He clutched his head.

"Okie dokie! We'll be right back." The albino dragged Denmark off by an arm, leaving Romano staring after them in irritation.

"Nobody else here yet?" he heard from behind him.

Ah. It was England. "Went for coffee. Hi."

"Hi," the blond smiled, sitting in the chair next to him and trying to snuggle up as he dropped his carry-on.

"Get off me, bastard. Not in public! Everybody's driving me nuts today."

"Don't be angry. We have three whole weeks together; don't start the trip off in a bad mood."

"Do _not_ remind me. I'm already reconsidering. If I leave now I can probably get most of a refund." He turned and looked at England who was staring at him in shock. Romano smiled and patted his cheek. "Kidding, kidding. I still want to spend time with you, even if the stupid albino potato makes me nuts."

"Well, if things get too bad, we can send them off somewhere and go somewhere else together."

"You said that at the fucking amusement park, and look how that turned out."

Both of them sat lost in memories for a few moments, until the sound of Prussia's voice broke into their privacy. "Arthur! Nice to see you!" He almost dropped the coffee as he hurried over to hug the island nation.

"Lucy," England acknowledged, taking the cup from him and drinking some. "Ta."

"Hey! Hey!" Prussia freaked out. Romano and Denmark started laughing hysterically at him, until he pointed out, "That was Romano's drink."

Now he and Denmark laughed at the brunet's irritated expression. England quickly handed him the cup. "Sorry."

"Drink it, bastard. I'll go get my own."

"Want company?"

"Sure. Watch our stuff, all right?" Romano appealed to Denmark.

"Yes, all right. Go. Get enough coffee to put you in a better mood!"

…

There was still another hour to go before boarding. "No Gilbird?" Denmark suddenly wondered.

"Ah, no. America's rules about foreign pets are too uptight. I talked to him about it, and he said he might be able to make an exception, but it seemed like too much hassle, so West and Veneziano are going to take care of him for me."

"He'll be in good hands with my _fratello_."

"I know. Gilbird loves him just as much as you love me."

Romano startled everyone by taking Prussia's face in both hands, smiling evilly, and announcing, "You are so right _,_ Prussia, I love you so much that I can't think about anything else." Leaning in slowly as if for a kiss, while the other three sat disbelieving, he instead bit the albino on the nose, laughing and letting go of him.

"Ow! Romano, you maniac! What kind of freak bites people on the nose?" Prussia checked for damage.

"Just trying to shut you up, albino potato. Drop the stupid catchphrase."

Denmark leaned over and stage-whispered into Prussia's ear, "Want me to kiss it better?"

"Kesesese!"

The Dane pecked a tiny little kiss on the injured nose.

"Cheh. I'm out of coffee. Come get some with me, bastard," Romano demanded, poking his boyfriend. "I have to take the potato taste away."

"Yes, all right. You gits want anything?"

"An ice pack," Prussia moaned desperately, but he was grinning.

"Nothing for me, thanks."

…

"So, Arthur, I have a question for you." Prussia rummaged in his carry-on and drew out a notebook and pencil.

"Sure, what?"

The albino flipped to a clean page and began sketching something. Den and Romano craned their necks to see what he was doing. "So, you all know we were working on finding me a new motto and superhero name." He didn't wait for an answer; it was just as well, because the other three tried to ignore that. "Well, I thought about it a lot when I was alone, and it's just too difficult." He kept sketching. "All I could think of was Potato Boy and The Albino Wanker, and those won't work."

"Sounds like some lame crimefighting team, though. Your stupid bastard of a brother could be Potato Boy and you could be his sidekick, the Albino Wanker."

"Shut up." Denmark reached around Prussia to poke Romano. "I want to hear this."

"Well, anyway," Prussia continued, still sketching, "you two were really awesome that day, trying to help me think of the name or motto, so I started thinking about that. We already have our team name, so I designed a flag for us."

"Uh-oh," Romano laughed. "Let me guess. Black and white with Gilbird in the middle."

"Ha! Well, you're close, my friend." He held up the sketch pad to show a rough drawing of a tricolor like Italy's. "But that Gilbird-in-the-middle idea is pretty awesome." He tapped the pencil against his teeth, thinking.

"That's just the Italian flag, though," Denmark pointed out. "How does that help?"

"Don't be silly, Den. It's the Skirmish Brothers flag! Look. If the first part was black, instead of green, then we have a black band, because there's black in the Prussian flag. And then the center part is white; we all have white in our flags. And the third part is red, because you and Romano both have red in your flag! Right? Isn't that the most awesome way it should be?"

The others thought about this. "I guess that's actually pretty sensible," Romano finally conceded, " _if,_ and I do mean if, there was any reason for us to have our own flag!" He snorted. "What would we do with a flag? Fly it over my house whenever you bastards stay over?" This made him laugh.

But Prussia ignored that and kept sketching. "And then we could put Gilbird in the middle, like an emblem; you're brilliant, Romano."

"Cheh. I know."

"And what does this have to do with me?" England asked.

"I'm getting to that. Now, the flag was just an idea. A concept. I don't really think we actually need to have our own flag, an actual flag, right? So I thought about other things we could have, or use, that had our flag design. And this is where Arthur's awesome knitting skills come in."

"I'm not knitting you a bally flag."

"I told you, I don't want a real flag!" He handed England the note pad. "Could you make us all hats like this?"

England studied the design. "What's with all the little dots all over it?"

"Beads! Gold beads. I love gold and I know you can get yarn with beads on it, right? So…you could use the bead yarn to make it, to give it that extra bit of awesome bling."

"You're joking," Romano said. "You want us all to wear matching hats? With _beads on them?_ That's the gayest thing I ever heard of. You are joking, right?"

"Not joking at all. Anyway, we don't have to all wear them when we're all together. I just meant so we have them, to think of each other when we're _not_ together."

"Why would I want to think about you when I don't have to be with you?" The brunet poked him.

Denmark hadn't been paying attention to this little bit of by-play, and he now reached for the note pad, which England handed over. "This is kind of creative," he admitted. "But this hat is too girly."

"Let me see," Romano said, grabbing the book. The three of them put their heads together over the design; England ignored them and drank his coffee. "Give me the pencil, bastard."

When he had the pencil in hand, Romano quickly sketched a manlier hat style, maintaining the flag colors. "There. This is better. How about this one, bastard?" He handed the book back to England, who shrugged.

"Turning this design into a hat is not a problem, you know. I've got the skills. What I want to know is, who's going to pay for the ruddy yarn?"

"Italian yarns are the best."

England poked the brunet. "I know. I've been knitting with Italian yarns for eighty years."

"Does it make a difference on price?" Denmark was not familiar with needlework.

"Well, yes, git! If you want cotton it's a lot cheaper than cashmere."

" _Cashmere!_ " Prussia yelled, gaining the attention of a lot of other travelers at the gate. "Oh, man, Iggy, a cashmere hat with beads would be like – like – the height of elegance." He sighed. "Like a tiara, but better. And – and you could knit a little Gilbird instead of a pompom!"

Romano rolled his eyes, but England snapped, "I'm not going to knit it if you keep calling me _Iggy_."

"Arr-thurrr," Prussia then purred. "My dearest, most talented Arthur…could you knit us cashmere hats?"

"I still want to know who's paying for the yarn. And another thing. If I knit each of you a hat, what's in it for me? Can't I put some blue in this hat for me? Blue's the only thing in my flag that isn't already on this hat."

Everyone looked at Prussia, since this was his idea. "Well," he said slowly, "if you put some blue on it, that means that you have all three of your flag colors in the hat. And if I have the gold beads on it, that means I have all my flag colors in the hat. And Den only has red and white in his flag. Which means that technically, Romano is – is – well, there's no green in the hat, so Romano wouldn't have a full flag effect, but everybody else would."

Romano sulked.

"Pouty wanker. All right, I won't put any blue on the hat. Maybe I'll put little teacups on top instead of a pompom."

"Don't put a teacup on my hat, Ethel," Denmark laughed. "Don't. In fact, don't put any pompom thing on mine. Just a plain hat, no beads, the design that Romano drew. All right?"

"Same for me, bastard."

"Well? Who's buying the yarn?"

The Skirmish Brothers shared a glance. "Do we really want cashmere?" Denmark asked.

"Oh, Den, you have no idea." The albino's eyes glazed over. "West has a pair of cashmere gloves. Sometimes in the winter, when I'm alone, I put them on and –"

"Shut up, shut up!" Romano yelled. "I don't want to hear this, I really don't."

"Fine. Anyway, I was just going to say I wear them when I drink beer, so my hands don't get cold from the bottle. They really are nice." He smirked at Romano and drank some coffee.

England was still staring at the drawing. "Right. Well, I'll need about a hundred pounds to make these properly."

" _What?_ " Prussia nearly dropped the cup. "Why so much?"

"Chigi! You think cashmere grows on fucking trees, you idiot? It's expensive! And – and England is right, he shouldn't have to pay for the yarn to make us hats." Romano blushed.

"Kesesese. Well, a hundred pounds is a lot of money."

"Not really," Denmark realized. "Not if you divide it by three hats. You'd pay thirty-five pounds for a handknit cashmere hat with beads, right?"

"What's that in Euros, bastard?"

Denmark laughed at him. "I can't believe you've been dating England for so long and you can't remember the conversion rate!"

"Eh, it's about one to one right now, git. Maybe a little more in Euros. Except that if I add the beads, that makes it pricier. Maybe, oh, a hundred and sixty pounds? Er - well, that's if I did all three hats with beads. If I only needed to make Gilbert's hat with beads, then maybe a hundred and twenty?"

"Yikes. Maybe forget about the beads," Prussia conceded.

"Whatever happened to your fucking casino money?" Romano wondered. "Can't you pay twenty extra Euros for beaded yarn?"

"Oh! I totally forgot. Yes, I can, my awesome friend with an awesome memory. I invested it all and I have a bundle."

"Ha, then you can pay for _all_ the yarn!" The brunet poked him.

"Just wait," England interrupted. "I don't have any of my knitting stuff with me anyway. If we see a yarn store while we're on vacation, you can pick out the yarn there, and I'll get some needles. Otherwise we can worry about this when we get back. Is that all right?"

"How long does it take to knit a hat?" Denmark wondered.

"Two days, tops, unless I get distracted by somebody." He nudged Romano.

"Oh. So even if you don't start them until we get back, you could still get them done by winter."

"Sure. In fact it will give me something to work on while you lot are on your cruise and I'm at home alone, moping."

Romano patted England's shoulder in commiseration; Prussia leaned over and blew the island nation a kiss.

"Boarding is now beginning for our flight to Los Angeles," the announcer boomed. The travelers sat up straight and prepared their gear for boarding.

"This is going to be the best vacation ever," Prussia sighed, and his smiling friends nodded in agreement.


	94. Hooray for Hollywood!

**Hooray for Hollywood!**

Romano threw his suitcase on the hotel bed. "Dammit. I really hate those long flights." Twelve hours in the air would take its toll on anyone.

"Well, at least we're here to stay for a while. We're not doing some drive-around-the-ruddy-country kind of trip where we have to change hotels all the time." England took his trainers off and lay down; Romano began unpacking. "This is a pretty sweet hotel. I didn't know America had these kinds of mod-con places. But I suppose if he had them anywhere, it would be in Hollywood."

There was a loud pounding and shaking at the connecting door. "Hey, Romano! Open up!" they heard Prussia yell.

"Shit." But he opened the door. "Not so loud, bastard. It's bedtime."

Prussia ignored him. "Awesome! We have a connecting door!" He danced through the open door with Denmark right behind him.

"Just don't try any of that ghost shit, bastards. You know I won't fall for it."

"Kesesese!" Prussia picked him up for a hug; Romano pushed him away.

"Ghost shit?" England asked. "Do I even want to know?"

"Oh, man, Arthur, it was so impressive. We were at a meeting a long time ago and we played an awesome ghost prank on America."

Denmark flopped onto the bed next to England. "Yeah. Prussia stood on the balcony and scratched at his window with an umbrella, and Romano stood at the connecting door and made moaning noises."

"The bastard was totally freaked out," Romano remembered.

But to their surprise England jumped up with a fierce scowl on his face. "You _tossers!_ That was you? Bloody hell, I should have guessed."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Romano asked calmly.

"That wanker whinged to me for an entire month about that bloody ghost. He blamed it all on me, because I'd refused to room with him that time. Good God, that boy can whine." He kept scowling, but the other three laughed at him.

"But it was so awesome, Arthur. He was scurrying around his hotel room like a scared little rabbit."

England narrowed his eyes. "Don't tell me any more. Not another word. If I see him, I might just dish out some payback by telling him what it really was."

"Yeah, you'd do that, wouldn't you, bastard?" Romano punched him in the arm. "You know you wouldn't."

England considered this. "Yes, you're right, I wouldn't. But still."

"Plus," Denmark realized, "he probably wouldn't even believe you. He loves his ghosts."

"That's true too," the island nation admitted.

"Kesesese! Well, good night, sleepyheads. Get some good rest, so we can go explore tomorrow! Don't forget, we'll be ready to go eat at ten. Agreed?"

"Agreed, bastards."

"Good night, wankers."

…

Prussia leaped out of bed the next morning and stretched. "Den, this bed is awesome, you realize that? I'm not jet-lagged _at all!_ "

"Mf." Denmark, who was, couldn't yet cope with this early-morning vitality.

"I'm going to do my exercises."

"Mf." Denmark rolled over and went back to sleep, putting a pillow over his head so he wouldn't have to listen to Prussia's muttered counting.

…

Ten o'clock rolled around. Prussia knocked on the connecting door.

Nobody answered. "Come on, you guys, wake up!" He hammered a little more loudly. Denmark was in the bathroom, washing up. Man, if those two were still sleeping…

But England flung the door open with a big, bright smile. "Good morning, Gilbert! How are you today?" He took the albino's face in his hands and dragged him down to peck a kiss on his forehead. "So nice to see you. Pray come in, Romano is just finishing up in the bathroom." He bowed like an old-fashioned butler.

"Does he have underwear on yet?" Prussia asked with a grin.

"Yes, bastard! Shut up!" they heard, and laughed.

Soon all four of them were ready to go. "Kesesese! Thanks so much for this, you guys. I'm so excited."

"Wait, wait, wait." England looked at them; all four of them were carrying backpacks. "This is bloody ridiculous. We don't need four backpacks. Let's just combine the essentials into one, and take turns carrying it."

"Sensible bastard. Here." Romano slipped off his backpack and handed it to him.

"Git. I didn't mean I wanted to carry everything!"

Denmark took the backpack. "I'll do it today. Somebody else can take a turn tomorrow." He removed his own and dumped it out on the spare bed. "Get whatever you think is completely critical."

"Camera, sunscreen, money…" Prussia muttered, rummaging through his pack.

"Don't keep your money in your backpack, stupid!" Romano kicked him. "Somebody steals it, you're shit out of luck! And I'm not giving you any money. Not after that fucking casino business."

"Kesesese! You really think someone could steal a backpack from _Denmark_? Romano, my friend, you clearly have no concept of that man's strength." Prussia squeezed Denmark's awesome bicep; the tall blond struck a bodybuilder pose.

"Knock it the fuck off; you look like that stupid impersonator from the casino."

"Or bloody heroic America." England, meanwhile, had finished transferring his camera and a water bottle to Denmark's backpack. "What do you want in here?" he asked Romano.

"Uh, just my hat, I guess. And some ibuprofen. I may need it!" He glared at Prussia, who blew him a kiss and laughed.

"Here you go, Den." England handed him the newly-filled backpack.

"Prussia? Anything else to go in?"

"Nope. All set!"

"Well? Let's not stand around the fucking hotel all day. Come on." Romano reached for England's hand, but Prussia intercepted him and grabbed his hand. "Dammit." But Romano let him keep holding his hand all the way down to the lobby. Denmark and England exchanged a little smirk, and followed.

When they saw the lobby swarming with people, Romano jerked his hand away. "That's enough, albino potato. Are we eating in the hotel or what?"

"Let's," Denmark decided. "Nothing worse than wandering around on an empty stomach, trying to find a place to eat and not finding one."

"Kesesese! I agree. Let's go."

…

One quick breakfast later, the boys wandered out onto Hollywood Boulevard. "I am _so excited!_ " Prussia yelled, jumping up and down and hugging Denmark, who patted his head.

Romano tried to kick him and missed. "We know. Stop acting like an idiot tourist."

"But he is an idiot tourist," England pointed out.

"Cheh, well, whatever. Let them walk ahead of us. Maybe people won't realize we're all together."

But Denmark wouldn't allow this. Not yet. "We came here to be together, so we're going to stay together. Teutonic Knights will keep his exuberance in check."

"I will? Oh, all right, I will." For about four seconds the albino pouted and then began skipping with glee.

"Keep it in check!" Romano barked.

Prussia came back and put his arm around him in a brotherly way. "Now, listen, Romano. I refuse to listen to you bitching the whole time. Why do you care if I'm jumping around? I'm happy! It's a nice day, I'm with my friends, we're in a cool city that I've been looking forward to for a long time, and" - here he lowered his voice - "I have a ton of money!" He raised his voice to normal again. "That's such a conjunction of awesomeness that you really cannot expect me to be calm about it. Okay?" He squeezed the brunet's shoulders and gave him a nice little smile.

"Well, all right. Just…well…"

"Don't worry. We'll keep him on the leash." England poked Prussia, who leaned over and kissed Romano's head.

The brunet pushed him away. "Chigi! Whatever!"

"Stop fighting," Denmark said mildly, and both Prussia and Romano snorted.

"Yes, all right, bastard, fine. Be as idiotic as you want."

"Thanks!"

…

"Let's go to Grauman's and look at the handprints and footprints," Denmark suggested.

"Cool, yes! I have to get a picture of Marilyn's for Poland, kesesese. It's such a cool job, being a movie star. If I couldn't be a nation, I'd either be a movie star or a rock star."

"You'd be good at both of those," England agreed. "Hey, we should look for Lucy and Ethel, too."

But Prussia shook his head. "They don't have handprints and footprints."

"You're joking! Why not?"

"Beats me," the albino admitted. "But I did a little research and they weren't on the list."

England scowled. "That's pretty pathetic." Everyone agreed.

The four of them reached the forecourt of Grauman's Chinese Theatre and split up to look around in general, as well as to find Marilyn Monroe's handprints. "Here's Fred Astaire!" Prussia called out, executing a little tap dance on the spot.

"Hey, Clint Eastwood," Romano pointed out; as a star in early spaghetti westerns, Eastwood had always had a special place in the Italian's heart.

England was still hunting for Marilyn, so Denmark pulled his camera out to take a few pictures of the sidewalk and of his friends. Romano mugged next to the Clint square for him, but Prussia was still randomly tap-dancing around as he called out famous names. Den decided to make a video.

"Hey, I found her," England called out. Denmark swung the camera to him as Prussia came over.

"The French are glad to die for love," Prussia declaimed, bowing to the island nation, and England's face lit up and he sang the next line as they faced each other over the square.

"They delight in fighting duels!"

Prussia's voice changed to a falsetto as he continued the song. "But I prefer a man who lives and gives expensive jewels."

Romano had been staring with his jaw dropped, but now he turned away. Denmark, though, kept the camera on the two friends as they sang and danced together. He wasn't sure whether they'd seen him filming or not, but he wasn't going to stop now.

"A kiss on the hand may be quite continental, but diamonds are a girl's best friend!" Prussia sang this line as he knelt and kissed England's outstretched hand with big, expansive gestures.

"A kiss may be grand, but it won't pay the rental on your humble flat, or help you at the Automat!" England then circled his kneeling friend, extending a hand to help him up.

Together they sang, holding hands and crooning to the sky, "Men grow cold as girls grow old, and we all lose our charms in the end." Prussia reached out and poked Romano in the rear end; he yelped and walked away without turning to look.

"But square-cut or pear-shape, these rocks don't lose their shape! Diamonds are a girl's best friend."

By now a little crowd had gathered to watch, laughing, and the two nations showed off even more, as they sang, twirled, blew each other kisses and flourished imaginary diamonds on fingers and wrists. Everyone seemed to realize the tall, spiky-haired man was filming them, so nobody got in the way of the camera.

"Time rolls on, and youth is gone, and you can't straighten up when you bend, but stiff back or stiff knees, you'll stand straight at Tiffany's…" Prussia stretched on his tiptoes and raised an arm to the sky as his falsetto reached an almost impossible high note.

"Diamonds! Diamonds!" they yelled, twirling in place. Laughing and hugging, foreheads pressed together, they then growled, "I don't mean rhinestones," turning back to face Denmark and end the song. "But diamonds are a girl's best, best friend!"

Prussia bowed; England dipped into a curtsey right at the Marilyn square, and all around the forecourt, people erupted into applause.

"You guys are awesome," Denmark told them, stashing the camera and hugging them. "This really is going to be a great vacation."

"Kesesese! Thanks, Arthur! That was so much fun. Though I never understood why anybody would be excited about a bread roll."

"What? What are you talking about?" England punched him in the arm, frowning.

"'Little pets get big baguettes'! I know 'little pets' must mean girlfriends, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Gilbert, you idiot. A baguette is a way of cutting a diamond into a rectangle."

"Oh! Now I get it. Wow, that really never made any sense to me." England punched him again.

"And here I thought people didn't spontaneously burst into song and dance in real life, bastards." Romano, who had walked all the way to the edge of the forecourt, rejoined them with a little smile.

"You know Gilbert, though; anything for some attention."

"What a great day!" the albino yelled, spinning in place with his arms outstretched. "Den, did you get a picture of Marilyn's square for me to send to Poland? Here, do this." He lay down grinning with his head on Danny Thomas' square, right next to the famous blonde's, and Denmark snapped a picture.

"All set."

"Hey, maybe when we get back to the hotel I can just upload it to my blog. Then he can see it now instead of waiting for me to get back and beg West for computer time. May I use your laptop, Den?"

Denmark liked that idea. "Sure. We'll probably have a lot of stuff to blog about, if this is any indication."

"Come on, bastards, it's almost lunchtime and I'm hungry." Romano took England's hand and they began to walk off; Prussia and Denmark hurried to catch up.

…

"Something smells good," Romano said. "Let's find it and get lunch there."

Noses questing, they tried to find the source of the tantalizing aroma. Near them there was a long line of people. "Excuse me," Denmark asked the last guy in line. "What's the line for?"

"Pink's," he said. "Famous Hollywood hot dog stand."

"Forget it, bastards!" Romano erupted, making his friends laugh and frightening the man in line. "No fucking American wurst for lunch!" He tried to walk off, but Prussia grabbed him around the waist and lifted him up. "Chigi! Put me down!"

"Hey, you're the one who said it smelled good," Denmark laughed, pinching his cheek. "I think we should do it. If it's such a famous Hollywood thing."

"I'm fine with that." England walked over and joined the line; Denmark followed.

Romano was still struggling in the albino's intense hold. "Dammit! Let go, bastard."

"Only if we can eat at Pink's."

Romano struggled fruitlessly for about twenty seconds more, muttering under his breath _,_ but eventually stopped struggling. "Fine. We can eat at Pink's, but I get to choose where we have dinner."

"Total deal!" Prussia squealed in a Poland-like fashion, letting him go, and they joined their friends in line.

"Dammit," Romano muttered again.

"Oh, you know you're being a wet blanket. You said it smelled good, _and_ it's a famous Hollywood thing, _and_ all your friends want to eat here. You love us, right?" Prussia fluttered his eyelashes at his friend.

"Bastard. If you don't stop with that stupid business..."

England stepped back to make peace. "Go stand with Den," he said to Prussia. "I'll get Romano back into a good frame of mind."

"Kesesese!"

…

Later that night, after more wandering, a delicious Italian dinner, and some time in the hotel's rooftop pool, the nations adjourned to their rooms.

"Ten again tomorrow, bastards?" Romano was exhausted.

"Can't we make it nine? There's so much to do."

"Fine, albino potato, nine is fine," the brunet sighed.

"Awesome. We'll knock at nine."

England and Romano nodded and went into their hotel room.

Inside the other room, Denmark pulled out his laptop. "Do you want to upload the Poland thing?"

"Oh! Yeah. Thanks." Prussia stretched. "Man, that whole thing was so cool. Dancing in Hollywood! I'm glad Arthur likes to sing and dance, too. Imagine if I would have tried that with Romano. Kesesese!"

Denmark snorted. "I can imagine it, all right. You would have sung that first line, and then it would have come to a crashing halt, right before he punched you."

"I know it. That boy needs to loosen up a little. Hey, will you do the web stuff for me? You know how to upload, right? I'll log in and you can just put up the Marilyn picture. I'll send Poland an email when you're done."

"Sure. Log in for me; I'll get the memory stick ready."

…

"Done," Den said later. "Want me to email Poland for you?"

But Prussia, who had gotten up so early, was asleep in his clothes on the bed. Denmark smiled fondly at him, took his shoes off, and shoved him into the middle of the bed. Then he emailed Poland, shut down the computer, and crawled into the bed himself.


	95. Happy Birthday, Denmark!

**Happy Birthday, Denmark!**

Prussia woke up and as usual began trying to do his pushups without disturbing Denmark. By the time he'd finished, showered (although that was kind of pointless, today), gotten dressed and packed a backpack, his friend had barely begun to stir. "Wake up, sleepyhead," Prussia said, rubbing Denmark's hair, which always looked ghastly in the morning.

"Uh."

"Come on, Den, I'm serious. You should be over your jet lag by now; we've been here a whole week already! Get up! It's eight o'clock. Arthur and Romano are probably up already."

This woke Denmark fully, and he began laughing. "You've got to be joking. Those snoozers? I'm going to knock on the connecting door and see how long it takes them to answer."

He slipped out of the bed and walked to the connecting door as Prussia watched, biting his lip. Just as Denmark raised his hand to the door, a knock sounded, and Prussia laughed. "Told ya!" Den smirked and opened the door.

"Dammit! Put some fucking pants on, bastard!" Slam.

Whoops. Prussia laughed even louder. "Den, how could you forget your _pants_?"

Denmark's face was bright red as he stumbled to the dresser. "You could have said something, you know. Just because you're a morning person…"

"You're so much fun, Den. I really do love you."

"Yeah. I know you love me." The surly Dane, now in his red heart boxers, headed to the bathroom to wash up.

Shortly thereafter he directed Prussia to knock on the connecting door again.

"Who the fuck is it?"

"Who do you think, Romano? It's either me or Denmark, right?"

"Are you dressed, bastards?"

"Kesesese, yes, I totally made him get dressed. Open the door."

Romano opened the door and pointedly avoided looking towards Den, who laughed and pecked a kiss on the dark hair. "Good morning, Romano."

"Argh."

"Hey, where's England? In the shower?" Denmark wondered.

"No, he went downstairs for something. He'll be right back."

"So what are we doing today?"

Romano, by the door, and Prussia, sitting on the spare bed, looked at each other and then quickly away. "Uh, well, I, we, uh…" Romano faltered.

"Don't worry, Den, we'll think of something awesome."

England sailed into the room, grinning. "All set, gits."

"Shut up, bastard!"

"Shh! Arthur!"

Denmark, puzzled, asked, "What's all set?"

"Dammit."

But England just laughed. "Oops. Are we all ready for breakfast? Romano, is our backpack ready?"

"Yes, yes, I packed it while you were on your mission."

"Prussia? Got a backpack?"

"Indeed I do, Ethel, my awesome friend." He scooped up the bulging backpack and put it on. "Come on, Den, let's go downstairs and have some breakfast."

…

Breakfast was fairly standard, at a very large corner table. Then England elbowed Romano, who said, "Well, uh, Denmark, we, we know you like water parks, right?"

"We're going to a water park?" Denmark practically leaped out of his chair. "Why didn't you say? I love water parks!"

"Kesesese! We know, right? Didn't Romano just say that? Calm down and listen." Prussia yanked on his arm to make him focus.

"All right, sorry, but I really do love water parks."

"Right. Well, we're going to a water park today, since – oh, you tell him, albino potato."

"Since it's your awesome birthday!" Prussia kissed Denmark's cheek.

"Oh! You mysterious boys. I completely forgot; I guess my schedule's off, since we're on vacation." Denmark grinned and scratched his head. "Thanks. That's super nice of you."

"Well, we would have done a water park anyway," Prussia admitted, "but we decided to have it today to celebrate."

"You two like water parks?" Denmark then asked Romano and England.

"Sure, bastard. They're almost as much fun as bouncy houses," Romano laughed. "In fact we should have a bet today. To celebrate."

Denmark turned serious. "But you know I was trying to cut back on the betting."

"This is just a little friendly bet, though. Just one of our regular bets. It's not like we're asking you to go to some fucking casino and drop a bundle." Romano drank some espresso. "Nothing that Sweden's going to holler at you about." He laughed a little.

"What kind of awesome bet do you have in mind?" Prussia was wiggling in his chair with excitement.

"How the hell would I know? You think of something."

Prussia tried to think.

Denmark tried to think.

Romano tried to think.

And England said, "How about one of your stupid 'no swearing or fighting' bets?"

"Maybe." But then Romano thought a little more. "No! Not today. Absolutely no fu—"

But Prussia cut Romano off with a calculating stare. "Yeah, I'd awesomely take that bet. You know I'd win today."

"Shut up, albino potato, I refuse."

"Something else is going on here, isn't it?" Denmark asked.

The other three fell silent and looked around the room in an artificially nonchalant manner. Prussia even began to whistle as he stared at the ceiling.

Denmark drank some coffee and waited.

"Nothing," England finally said, and Denmark spit his coffee across the table, into Romano's face.

"Dammit! Bastard, what the hell's the matter with you?" He punched his boyfriend.

"Don't blame _me_ , wanker. Denmark's the one who spit on you." England handed him a napkin.

"Sorry, Romano. England startled me."

"Whatever" came from behind the napkin.

"Do you want to go back upstairs and wash up?"

Romano lowered the napkin and stared at his Danish friend. "Bastard, we're going to a _water park_. It'll wash off."

"Oh. Well, yeah." He drank some more coffee. "Where is this place, anyway? How are we getting there?"

On cue, the friends heard "Ha ha ha ha ha!" across the restaurant and glanced over to see America striding towards them in a loud Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and flip-flops, a set of keys dangling from his finger. Austria, looking slightly embarrassed to be dressed the same way, slunk along behind him.

"Dude! Happy birthday!" America clapped Denmark on the back.

"Thanks! You're driving us to the water park? That's cool. The more the merrier."

Austria shook Denmark's hand. Then Prussia jumped up and hugged and kissed Austria, who fidgeted. "Prussia, please. Not in a public place." He pushed his glasses up his nose.

"So I guess you two are awesomely back together, right? After the talent show?" Prussia beamed at them both; America nodded to the waiter and pulled out a chair for Austria and then for himself.

"I'm so lucky, man," the loud blond then laughed. "Aren't I?" He poked England.

"Not as lucky as I am." The island nation hugged Romano.

"Chigi!"

"Oh, settle down, all of you, please?" Austria begged. "We're _in a_ _public place_."

"Sorry, sweetie," America said, making Austria blush, Prussia laugh, and England snort. "But are you guys done with breakfast? We should get going; it's about an hour's drive."

"Aha," Denmark realized, standing up. "This is why you were such pests about getting up early!"

"Aw, see, Arthur, I told you he'd figure it out."

"Wait, though. I don't have my swim stuff with me." Denmark looked panicky now.

"You don't trust me to take care of that for you? I'm hurt." Prussia pouted before yelling, "Kesesese! Let's go!"

…

"You brought this enormous van?" Romano was a bit surprised.

"Well, we had to bring some other people along, too," America admitted. "But it won't be a problem. Go on, get in."

Austria called shotgun (technically he said "I'm going to ride in the front seat") and the rest of them clambered into the back, where Iceland, Liechtenstein and Switzerland were sitting. Predictably, Switzerland seemed unhappy, but the other two were more than cheerful enough to make up for it.

"Whoa, great to see you guys!" Prussia yelled, sliding in next to Switzerland, which pushed him up against his little sister, which pushed her up against Iceland, who laughed and shook Prussia's hand.

"Go sit up there," Switzerland grumbled, pointing to the empty middle row of seats.

"Oh, don't be a party pooper, Swissy."

"Don't call me _Swissy_." The Alpine nation, dressed in summer gear with no visible weapons, turned to Denmark and grumpily wished him a happy birthday.

"Happy birthday, Denmark," Liechtenstein echoed.

Iceland nodded. "I hope it will be a good one, my old friend."

"This is really great!" Denmark told them. "So many friends to celebrate with."

"Bastard, you have no idea."

"All set?" America asked, turning on the ignition.

"All set, wanker," England sighed, buckling up and wedging himself up against the side of the van, closing his eyes and holding Romano's hand in a death grip, because he knew what America's driving style was like.

Romano tolerated the hand-holding, since no one else could see, and America drove off.

…

The noise level in the van was almost unbearable by the time they pulled into the parking lot. "We're lucky it's midweek," America told everyone. "I was able to get them to close to the public today."

"You're _joking_ ," Denmark said. "Just for us?" He did a quick headcount; nine nations?

"Kesesese! Den, you don't seriously think we'd have a tiny little party like this? No. Come on in!" Prussia dragged Denmark through the entrance gates with the others streaming behind them, and once inside saw not only a host of park employees, picnic tables laden with food, but also –

"Ve! Happy birthday, Denmark!" Veneziano blew on a little noisemaker and jumped up and down happily.

"H'p'y B'rthd'y." Sweden actually smiled a little bit and shook Den's hand. Norway, apparently no longer dating Russia (who was nowhere to be seen), stood by and smiled briefly at the birthday boy.

"Happy birthday, Denmark!" Finland handed him a present.

"Best wishes on your birthday," Japan told him, bowing.

"I left the frying pan at home today," Hungary said, standing on tiptoe to peck the birthday nation on the cheek.

"Even I am here to wish you a happy birthday-aru," China, wrapped in a Hello Kitty towel, chimed in.

"It is always a good occasion when nations can relax together," Germany said, shaking Denmark's hand.

"Like, happy birthday!" Poland (in pink trunks with flowers on them) squealed, hugging Lithuania, who simply smiled and nodded.

"Canada's coming, too," America told Den, "but he'll be late."

Denmark narrowed his eyes at that, but his attention was diverted by Spain and France, who came up and hugged him. "Ohonhonhon, Denmark, you are really such a fine specimen of a man…" France seemed to be forgetting himself, and pressed a little closer to him.

"Mm, _s_ _í, Francia_ , you have certainly said it." Spain reached up and seductively ran his fingers through the embarrassed Denmark's hair.

"Get away from him, you two," Prussia barked, putting a hand on each of their shoulders and shoving them away. "Come on! Let's _party!_ "

Loud music began pumping from the speakers and nations began to stow their gear and head for the water slides.

"What's that?" England asked, pointing to a large square thing like a billboard.

"Movie screen!" America yelled, as he ran off with Austria. "We'll have an awesome movie later! Ha ha!"

"Damn. This is the most amazing birthday I have ever had. Well, except the first one ever, you know, but that was a long time ago. Come on, let's go on a slide!" Denmark looked at the park map.

"Let's go on the tallest one first," Prussia decided.

"Dammit. Let birthday boy decide, you fucking self-centered moron."

"Whatever!" Denmark laughed and ruffled Romano's hair.

"Chigi! Watch out for the hair curl."

"Hey, that's a bet we could do," Denmark realized.

"What? No! Nothing with the fucking curl, bastards."

"No. No, try to keep your hair dry all day. Last person with dry hair wins."

"I'm out," England said immediately. "Every time I try something like that, I fail. I'm just going to get my hair wet right away."

"Prussia? Romano?"

"Well," Prussia considered, "define 'dry.' I mean, there's a lot of splashing going on. We're bound to get wet from that."

"Huh, yeah. Well, we'll think of something else."

"I'm going to try to do it anyway," Romano decided. "My hair always feels like straw when it gets too full of chlorine. I'm going to see if I can keep it dry."

"Okay, well, come on, Den, which slide are we going on?"

Denmark looked at the map again. "Oh! How about the Tunnel of Terror?"

Romano looked a little worried. "Wh-what's so terrible about it?"

"Slide in the dark? Kesesese! I'm in!"

"I'm in, wankers."

"Uh…"

"Well, come with us, Romano, and if you don't want to you don't have to. All right?" Prussia put his arm around his dark-haired friend.

"Yes, all right, bastard, just get your fucking arm off me." He stalked away and the others followed.

…

England tried an oblique approach. "The thing about a dark slide is, well, it's kind of good, because you can't see the bloody twists and turns coming. You just have to lie there and take it."

"Uh."

"Bad approach, Arthur. Okay, how about this? If we all go down, you'll be left standing here at the top! Not awesome at all, and all the other nations will see you standing here like a big fat chicken. Do you really want West to see that?"

"Chigi-i-i-i!" Romano's voice faded away as he immediately jumped and slid into the dark interior of the Tunnel of Terror.

"Me next!" Denmark elbowed Prussia out of the way and jumped.

"You can go next, Gilbert." England bowed.

"Thank you so much, Arthur."

…

At the bottom of the ride they all had thoroughly wet hair. "Good thing we didn't make that dumb bet," Romano snorted.

"No kidding." Denmark reached over with one hand and dunked him.

He came up spluttering. "Dammit, Den! Knock it off!"

"Why? Your hair's awesomely wet already," Prussia told him, as if he didn't know that.

"Grr. Just don't touch me, bastards."

"Settle down, wankers. Let Denmark pick a slide."

"Thanks, England. How about this one?" He pointed to the map. "It's a four-man raft ride." He very carefully made sure not to let Romano see the map.

"Sure, whatever," England said, nudging Romano. "All right with you?"

"Oh, sure. A raft ride? How bad could it be?"

Prussia, looking at the map over Den's shoulder, smirked, but Romano didn't see.

…

"Dammit, you sneaky bastards! You didn't say it was in the dark again!"

Prussia cackled and tickled Romano under the chin. "Is 'oo scared of de dark, wittle Womano?"

"Shut the fuck up. I'm going in a wave pool. Come with me, bastard," he growled, grabbing England by the arm.

The island nation sighed. "Guess we'll be in a wave pool, gits. See ya."

"Wave pools are great," Denmark grinned. "Come on, Prussia, let's go to the wave pool with our friends."

"Kesesese!"

…

After calmly floating in a wave pool for half an hour, talking about their future vacation plans and chatting with other nations who happened to drop by, Denmark decided he was hungry, so they adjourned to the picnic tables.

"Ice cream!" America yelled, running over. He slipped on a wet patch and fell.

"Git."

But Prussia helped him up. "You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, bro. Thanks." He adjusted his glasses and made a beeline for the ice cream.

"Ice cream sounds really good, though."

A park worker beamed at Denmark as he said this and scooped some ice cream for him. "H-happy birthday, sir," the employee said.

"Thanks. I love your water park!"

"We love it too!"

Romano, Prussia and England had loaded up with some food, too, so they all moved to an empty picnic table to eat. "The burger bastard sure knows how to do parties right."

"No kidding," Denmark agreed. "Was this all his idea?"

"It was awesomely Romano's idea to have a party for you."

Romano blushed a little. "Well. But it was Prussia's idea to do the water park."

"And then America had the idea to invite all the other nations, kesesese."

England had maintained a resolute silence throughout all this. Now Denmark turned to him. "Didn't you come up with anything, old friend?"

The island nation exploded. "The wankers didn't even tell me there was a party until last night!"

Everyone laughed at him, and then he laughed at himself, and ate a little ice cream.

…

"Come on, Romano. It's my _birthday-y-y…"_ Denmark gave his friend a very goofy pleading look. "We need four people on the raft!"

"I could ask West, if Romano doesn't want to join us?" Prussia suggested.

This tactic worked again. "All right, bastards, I'll go on the fucking tube slide. In the _dark._ Let's go get it over with."

...

"Whoa! That was awesome!" Romano jumped off the raft and hugged Denmark. "Thanks! Let's do it again."

"No, no, no. I want to go on the three-tube slide."

"What's the three-tube slide?" England asked him.

"Three tubes that interlace in and out of each other like a braid, and all end up in the same pool."

"Awesome! We can have our bet." Prussia nodded sagely. "All start at the same time, last one down loses."

"Fine with me, bastards. Let's go."

They climbed the stairs to the top of the three-tube slide, each in line for a different tube: Prussia on the left, Denmark in the middle, Romano on the right. England would follow separately. Behind them, Sweden and Finland stood waiting their turn.

"All right, what does the loser have to do, if he loses the bet?" Romano asked.

Denmark scratched his stomach. "Hm. Can't buy dinner, because we have all this food. Can't drive back to the hotel; America will do that for us."

"Come on, Denmark, you guys are holding up the line!" Finland admonished them. "Get moving!"

Prussia was jumping up and down in his eagerness to go. "Aw, come on, let's just make the bet and we can talk about it later. Countdown will be 3-2-1-go, all right? Arthur, you'll give the countdown?"

"Three – two – one – go!" England yelled.

But somewhere between "two" and "one," Sweden tapped Denmark on the shoulder, which meant that he was completely distracted while his friends leaped into their tubes with glee. "Damn it, Sweden! Why did you do that? Now I'm going to lose the bet—" He cut himself off abruptly. Oops.

"Th'ght y'weren't bett'ng 'nym're," the taciturn nation said with a frown.

"Ah, it's just a friendly bet, all right? Which you made me lose, on my birthday! Damn it, Sweden," he repeated. "I – I have to go!" He jumped into the tube. England, realizing the whole bet was ruined, jumped into the tube Prussia had used.

In the water at the bottom, Denmark came up spluttering, certain he was going to get a ribbing from his friends, but Romano was the only one there. "Bastard, what the hell? Are they different sizes or something?"

"Beats me. Sweden started lecturing me about betting, so I got a late start. Maybe we can have a do-over?"

"But where's the albino potato? I thought he jumped in at the same time I did. Did he wait with you?"

"I don't really know." Both of them turned to look at the third tube, which was placidly pouring water out, but no Prussia. "I was too busy yelling at Sweden."

The two friends now heard a loud yelling getting louder, and it seemed to be coming from the third tube. "Uh-oh," Romano said, and indeed, as they watched, a giant tangle of pale arms and legs and bodies shot out of the tube, causing the water to froth and foam.

They waited where they were until the pile of flesh sorted itself into Prussia and England, and then hesitantly crossed over to them. England stood up, but Prussia remained crouched in the shallow water, seeming a bit embarrassed. "What happened?" Denmark asked them.

"I have no bloody idea," England snarled. "I went into the tube and crashed into Gilbert about halfway down, and the rest of the ride was a nightmare. I think you got your elbow in my _ear_ , git."

But Prussia was still acting diffident. "Uh, well, I think my swim trunks must have gotten snagged on something. I stopped sliding and just hung there, until Arthur crashed into me, and then we came down the slide together." He paused and looked back up at the slide. "I think they're still in there somewhere."

"What's still in there?" Denmark wondered.

But Romano yelled, "You're _naked_ , bastard?"

All the nations in earshot stopped what they were doing, looked at the now-blushing Prussia, and then hurriedly went back to what they'd been doing. Denmark was greatly amused by this and started laughing, but the others had different concerns.

"Good thing the frog didn't hear that."

"Yes, I'm naked," Prussia admitted. "Don't even yell at me. It's not my fault and I don't have a spare pair of trunks. Just my shorts."

"Well, put them on, naked albino bastard!"

"I can't! Well, I could, but then I can't go on the slides any more. They have a rule about no shorts with rivets in them, and my shorts are jean shorts. Totally unawesome." He thought about this. "Do any of you have shorts without rivets you can lend me?"

"Not me, git. Mine are jean shorts, too."

"Mine wouldn't fit you," Denmark said, stretching his well-muscled body in the sunlight.

Everyone avoided catching Romano's eye.

"Dammit."

England poked him. "Give Gilbert your shorts, Romano. The chlorine will kill off all the albino cooties for you."

Romano turned red again and all his friends started laughing at him. "Yes, all right," he finally muttered. "Let me go to my backpack."

Denmark waved over a park attendant. "Maybe we can get Prussia a towel in the meantime?" he asked the worker, who hastily fetched a towel. Prussia managed to wrap it around his waist and climb out of the water with his dignity intact.

"You have to let me wear your dry shorts on the way home, though," Romano told him, handing over the proper shorts.

"Kesesese! I will. Thanks, Romano. I appreciate it."

Romano kept his eyes on his backpack. "N-no problem," he eventually replied. "Wouldn't be, uh, awesome, for you to have to sit around and watch us have fun without you."

The other three shared a grin over his bent head, as they always did whenever he started acting nice to Prussia. The albino took the shorts to the locker room to change.

…

By early evening, many of the nations had begun to wind down a bit. "Hey, people!" America yelled. "Get some rest – we have an amazing short movie to show you! We'll start the film around nine, when it gets darker. Rest up, eat up!"

Tired nations nodded and headed for quiet places to relax, some with plates of food (which had been continually replenished throughout the day), and some just quietly talking to each other. Iceland and Liechtenstein headed for a spot under the trees. "I'm going to take a nap," the friends heard Liechtenstein say quietly to her friend.

"That's all right. I'm going to stay awake. I'll make sure you wake up in time for the amusing film, whatever it is." They smiled at each other before walking away.

Denmark watched them go. "Hey, you guys," he said to his friends. "I'm going to go chat with Ice for a while, all right? Everybody's been so busy; I haven't talked to him much lately."

"Kesesese! Get the story on Liechtenstein! Are they still doing all right?"

Romano punched the albino. "You're an idiot. They've been together all day!"

"Oh, can it, Romano. Let's get some pizza."

Denmark went to sit with Iceland while his friends prepared some snacks. "Hey, Ice, Liechtenstein," he said, sitting down. "I know you want to nap," he told the girl with a grin. "Feel free. I just want to talk to Ice; it's been so long since we sat down together."

"Thank you, Denmark." She settled herself on the towel. "And thank you for that wonderful New Year's party you hosted."

Both the Nordic nations smiled, at that, and Iceland squeezed her hand briefly before she closed her eyes.

…

When Den came back to his friends, Romano had lain down, and England and Prussia were having a contest to see who could finish a bowl of ice cream first. Not wanting to interrupt, Denmark patted Prussia on the back, which distracted him, and England won. "Den, damn it! Why did you do that? I keep losing bets today!"

"Bastard."

"Oh. I thought Romano was asleep."

"Trying to be," he countered. "These slobby bastards keep making noises while they eat."

"Be thankful we're not drinking, git," England laughed, poking him.

"So I wonder what this awesome movie is?" Prussia scanned the area for America, to ask him, but he was nowhere in sight.

"Guess we'll find out in another hour or so." Denmark waved to a park attendant – they all seemed kind of beat, too – and asked for some ice cream.

…

"All right, people! Wake up and get ready." America bustled about, chivvying people over towards the movie screen. He kicked the supine England. "Get up, Iggy. You won't want to miss this."

England was a little groggy. "Some stupid hero movie, right?"

"Well, no, as a matter of fact," America admitted. "You'll like it, I promise. Come on."

By now everyone was beginning to get organized in front of the movie screen. "Is it Transformers?" Japan asked. "I like that movie very much."

"Ha ha, no, just be patient! It's just a short film."

When everyone was in place America stood up to make a little speech. "I just want to remind everyone that we're here because it's Denmark's birthday! Stand up, Denmark!"

Sheepishly, he did, and all the nations and park workers applauded politely. "Can I sit down now?" he asked.

"Yeah, dude, sit if you want to. So anyway, we're going to be showing just a short film to entertain you all, and then the park will be closing. Sit tight." There was a notable lack of excitement over this announcement. America, unable to read the atmosphere, didn't notice the chirping of the crickets in the sudden silence. "Let's roll it!" he yelled to an unseen cameraman, who started the special featurette.

The scene showed a sunlit day outside Grauman's Chinese Theater. "Hey, we were just there!" Prussia yelled, and everyone shushed him.

And then everyone did, in fact, see that the visitors had recently been there, because Denmark's little video of the song-and-dance routine played on the forty-foot screen. Romano ground his hands into his eye sockets, groaning, but England and Prussia beamed with pride as they watched themselves cavort. "Den, did you send him this or what? I didn't even know you made a video!" Prussia hissed.

"I put it on your blog," Denmark whispered. "Guess he saw it and planned this on his own."

"We're really good!" England said, leaning against Prussia, who nodded and hugged him.

"Shut up." Romano was now trying to hide behind Denmark.

When the video ended, both the performers stood up and bowed to their friends at the water park, to a round of applause.

"See, Iggy? Toldja you'd like it!" America laughed. "And that's it for today, folks! Be safe getting home!"

Nations began to pack their gear up and filter past Denmark on the way to the locker rooms with weary happy birthday wishes. Den thanked them all.

The friends waited until most of the crowd had departed before heading to the locker room themselves. "I'm going to shower in the hotel, instead of here," Prussia decided, and the others all agreed. He handed Romano his dry jean shorts.

The others all changed out of their wet trunks into dry clothing. "Nice underwear, Romano."

"Thanks, albino potato."


	96. Prologue: The Planning Stages

_This is the beginning of "Estonia's Love Life."_

…

 **Prologue: The Planning Stages.**

Estonia sat before his computer screen. He was very pleased that he'd invested in anti-glare coating on his latest pair of glasses. The Baltic nation had begun working on a spreadsheet. It was quite involved already.

First layer: just two columns, _Nation_ and _Available._ In the Nation column he had alphabetized all the nations. In the Available column he'd put either a Y, if they weren't dating anyone, and if they were dating, the name of that nation's partner. If he wasn't sure, he left it blank.

Estonia loved spreadsheets. They were so orderly and easy to control. And he liked this one because America headed the list. He'd always had a little bit of a crush on that loud blond.

But America was dating Austria, right now. So he reluctantly put "Austria" in the second column and moved on.

In just half an hour he'd filled in the whole first layer of the spreadsheet. He had a very methodical plan. He'd start at the top of the list – in this case with Australia – and work his way down. The second layer of the spreadsheet contained notes about each nation. Notes like birthdays, right now, but he planned to expand it to include national festivals, favorite colors, and so on.

Who was off the list at the moment? America, of course, and Austria, his boyfriend. Denmark and Prussia, England and Romano, Germany and Italy. Sweden and Finland. Iceland and Liechtenstein. Poland and Lithuania. He was very jealous of them all (except maybe Lithuania).

Estonia was _determined_ to get a date. Man or woman, he didn't care; he was tired of being alone. Lithuania was always with Poland, and Latvia was too young, and he absolutely was not interested in any relationship with Russia.

The only other nation completely off the list was Sealand, who, technically, wasn't a real nation. But also, he was too young. Someday, Estonia suspected, Sealand and Latvia would grow up and be together. But that wasn't the point of this exercise.

He opened his email and composed a very matter-of-fact note to Australia, requesting a date. He wasn't fond of koala bears, but hoped that if he got a date out of this, the bear wouldn't accompany them. Of the large distance between their houses, he thought not at all. He was willing to go that far afield – halfway around the world! – if it meant he could be happy with another nation.

The Baltic nation hit the Send button and went to bed in an optimistic frame of mind.


	97. A Date Down Under

**A Date Down Under.**

Estonia felt quite optimistic! From what he knew of Australia, that nation was quite fun-loving. He hoped their date would include one of those famous barbeques he'd heard so much about. Laying back in the sun, on the beach – Estonia was very excited about that. He might even try a Foster's.

He had dressed in a nice casual outfit of pressed chino shorts and a purple polo shirt with socks and hiking boots, because he knew the terrain might be difficult for walking. He could always take his boots off, if they went to the beach. In his pocket he kept his smartphone with his spreadsheet so that he could make quick notes about his date, and in his left hand he carried a lush bouquet of blue cornflowers, native to his land. He loved that color and often wished his eyes were that beautiful blue.

But when he arrived in Sydney it was _freezing!_ What on earth? It was June, and yet residents were going about their business in cold-weather gear; Estonia, jacketless in shorts, felt extremely silly. Were they having an unseasonably cold summer? He whipped out his phone to check historical weather data, but before he could find out, Australia himself was standing before him.

"G'day, Estonia! Wow, you're really brave, dressed like that! Aren't you cold?" His host's green eyes, so like his own, stared at the beach outfit.

"I'm _very_ cold!" Estonia felt like a dork. "Why is it so cold in June?"

"Ah ha ha ha! You didn't think about the fact that my home is in the southern hemisphere, did you? It's all right. Lots of travelers forget. Here, wear my coat. I can deal with it for a little while." Australia took off his heavy overcoat and offered it to his guest.

Estonia was charmed and snuggled gratefully into the warm, sheepskin coat, which smelled vaguely of eucalyptus. He was also happy that evil koala bear was nowhere in sight. "Oh! Here. I brought you some cornflowers, the national flower of my country." He extended the bouquet to his host.

"Thanks, mate! These are pretty. Come on back to my place; I'll put 'em in water. I thought we could have supper together before going to the Opera House. I love to show off that place."

The Opera House? Estonia panicked; he wasn't dressed for something nice like the Opera! "But – but I – " He gestured to his outfit in a panic.

Australia laughed and took his hand easily. "Don't worry. I just meant for a little tour. It is one of the most famous buildings in the world."

"Whew. I know, though. It's a very striking building." He was so pleased that Australia was already holding his hand! Despite his weather-related gaffe, things seemed to be moving along well. He followed the brunet out the door of the airport.

Outside it was very windy and he was grateful to have the added layer of Australia's coat. His host led him to a little blue Holden and they got inside. Ah, it was nice and warm in the car. "Heated seats, yeah?" Australia grinned.

"Very nice. I should look into those for my next car." Estonia relaxed against the seat as they moved into traffic. He glanced around out the window. "I've done a little research on your homeland," he pointed out, but before he could speak further Australia began laughing at him.

"Not enough, shorts-boy! Though they are nice shorts. Hey, I bet you were hoping to have a cookout on the beach, weren't you?" The brunet laughed loud and long. "Ah, no matter. You can come back sometime in December and we can do that."

Cheeks burning, Estonia simply smiled. He was a little afraid to say anything, now.

Suddenly he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned in the car seat to see that koala bear smirking at him. "Aah!" He jumped a little.

"Oh, don't mind him. Sit down, Rincewind. Stop bothering Estonia." The bear kept smirking but sat back into the seat.

"Rincewind? From the Discworld books?"

"You know them?" Australia beamed, pulling into his driveway. "Yeah."

"I like those books a lot. England and I once had a long talk about them, though he – he believes the Discworld is actually real." Estonia blushed at voicing such silliness.

"Eh, England believes a lot of weird shit. Just ignore him. Come on, let's go inside and eat."

The three of them went into the house. "Nice place. Very roomy."

"Yeah, though it's a bit bleak yet." Nice smells were coming from the kitchen. "Come on in. Want a beer?"

"I'd enjoy a beer very much." Estonia slipped out of the warm overcoat and looked for a closet to hang it in.

"Just throw it on the chair. Come into the kitchen."

…

Australia had done a good job of cooking the famous shrimp on his kitchen range. "Too bloody cold to fire up the barbie, mate," he'd laughed.

The food was delicious, if a bit bizarre, although Estonia was not too pleased with the foreign beer. He much preferred the beers of Germany, especially those brewed in the area that used to be Prussia. But he tactfully refrained from saying this to his host.

"Ready to go?" Australia asked, once the dishes had been cleaned up.

"Yes, that's fine." Estonia was still a little nervous. So far their conversation had been somewhat generic, touching on the weather, cultural events, and so on. Estonia had asked a lot of questions about Australia's festivals and culture, but the brunet did not seem to be interested in finding out about the Baltic nation's lifestyle. He wondered why.

He also wondered if they would be touring the Opera House privately. Maybe there was some dark corner where he could sneak a kiss? Australia was very rugged. He liked that.

This time his host lent him a different coat, shrugging into his big sheepskin one himself, and they rushed off to the Opera House, leaving the bear at home.

…

Up close the famous building looked much more approachable: just a building, rather than a cultural icon of a nation. Large tour groups of many nationalities progressed through the building, but Australia led his date on a private tour, proudly discussing the architecture, the famous performances, the resident companies. Estonia liked it very much, and said so – and this was not simply because he wanted to please his date. He'd done his homework on the famous building, of course, but it was much more pleasant to have the personal tour. And Australia kept holding his hand.

"Thank you for this," he said wonderingly, at one point.

"No worries, mate!" Australia drew him into a dark corner and with no preamble began kissing him. What? Wow! Estonia did his best to cope with this sudden onslaught, even though they were in a public place.

When they broke apart Australia grinned at him. "Eh, not bad. Come on, let's go." He dragged the bemused Baltic along through well-lit corridors, continuing the tour.

There were no more sudden kiss attacks. After the tour, Australia suggested a visit to a bar.

"I – I'd love to, but it's getting late. I need to head for home." Estonia felt very silly once again. Having come this far around the world, he should have brought an overnight bag.

"That's too bad! We could've hit the piss in town. Well, I'll take you to the airport. Leave me my coat, yeah?" Australia swept them down to the car in a whirlwind of talk and laughter. 'Hit the piss'? Estonia had a lot of research to do when he got home!

As they stood in the airport's departures hall, Estonia – who was still quite dazed from this bizarre date – put his arms tentatively around Australia and asked him to come visit the Baltic nation next weekend.

"Eh, can't do it, mate," the brunet said, kissing him. "Got a date with Korea."

"What?" Estonia was so startled he jumped back. "You're dating Korea? Then why did you go on a date with me?"

Australia laughed. "Settle down. I'll go on a date with anybody who asks me, except bloody England," he explained. "Week after that I'm hoping to get China down here to play for a bit, but that bloke's a tough conquest."

"I see." Estonia adjusted his glasses, trying to recover his equanimity. "I – I don't think that's the kind of relationship I'm looking for, though," he pointed out quietly, with a blush.

"'S all right, mate! You were a lot of fun in your silly shorts! Have a good flight back; I'll see you at the meetings sometime?" Australia took his coat back and waved as a dejected Estonia headed towards the gates. "We can get together then!"

Estonia waved sadly without looking back. Back to the drawing board.


	98. A Bit of Quiet Time

**A Bit of Quiet Time.**

England came out of the hotel bathroom in his silk pajama bottoms and slipped into bed beside Romano, who was lying on his back looking at the ceiling in a distracted way. "Are you all right?"

"Nh. Just thinking. A little bit tired, I guess. We've packed a lot of stuff into this vacation already. I'm not used to all this whirlwind shit."

"You hang out with Gilbert, though. You should be used to it by now. He's always like that."

"Cheh, yes, I know. Listen, will you turn the lights off? I'd love to just lie here and relax with you."

"Sure." The island nation got out of bed and switched off the lights. When he got back into the bed he lay on his side and held Romano's hand.

Things were quite peaceful for a minute, and then Romano coughed.

"Are you all right? Getting sick?" This might be bad.

"N-no, I just…I wanted to ask you something and I'm trying to work up my nerve."

"You can ask me anything you want. You know that." England raised their joined hands to his mouth and kissed Romano's knuckles; he felt the warm hand uncurl and the fingers run through his hair.

"Yeah, I guess I do know that. I – was just wondering." But then he stopped, and he stopped playing with England's hair, too.

"Something bothering you?"

"Did you ever go out with the albino potato?" the brunet blurted out.

"What? You mean like dating? No."

"You're telling the truth, bastard?"

"Yes! Why the hell would I lie? I've never dated Gilbert. We were allies a lot, but we were enemies just as often. Why is this bothering you all of a sudden?" England sat up on the bed, facing his friend.

Romano reached out and took his hand again, somewhat shyly. "You two are always so – so _cuddly_ with each other, or something. I don't know. You're always hugging and singing together and shit like that. I – kind of wondered if you had a history together, or – maybe you just like doing all that, and he's – he's just the right kind of person for it, and – and – "

But the half-nation was unable to continue speaking, because England had leaned down and kissed him. "Shut it," he murmured with a grin, cupping Romano's face with one hand. "Gilbert is very good at being Prussia. Loud, energetic, obnoxious, and yes, fun, and surprising. But nobody can live with that all the time." Here he stopped and thought about this. "Well, obviously _he_ can, and I guess Denmark can, but – no. Even _Germany_ can't take it, and Gilbert is his brother! He's someone I like to be with when I want to act crazy, but you, you're who I want to be with when I want to be myself." He lavished a few more kisses on his distraught boyfriend's lips. "Home is where the heart is, yeah?"

Romano looked confused. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"My heart is with you."

"Oh." The brunet smiled, finally. "Sappy romantic bastard." He reached up and wrapped his arms around England's neck. "Show me how your heart feels about being with me, dammit."

"My pleasure, wanker," the island nation grinned, snuggling closer.

…

"Hey, Den, did you ever open the present Finland gave you on your birthday?" Prussia lay on the hotel bed, eating caramels and watching the Euro Cup. "Greece is beating Russia," he pointed out. "That's pretty serious."

Denmark came over to the bed with a bag of pretzels. "Where is that present, anyway? I don't even remember what I did with it."

"Probably over near the suitcase."

"Here, hold the pretzels. I'll get it out." He put the bag on the bed and unearthed the flat gift box. "I hope it's nothing too weird."

"Finland never gives weird gifts. He's got some kind of psychic present radar. Kesesese, he always gives West a bunch of porn."

Denmark snorted. "You're right. Finland has his finger on the pulse of the nations." He sat on the bed and opened the box. "Ha!"

"What is it?" Prussia craned his neck to see.

"Swim trunks." He held them up. "Danish flag swim trunks."

"Kesesese! You know, we have the most awesome collection of flag-related clothing there ever was. Underwear, jackets, now swim trunks –"

But Den had just checked the size label. "What? His radar has failed."

"Why? What's wrong with them?" Prussia reached over and grabbed them. "They're awesome. I wish they were mine. Because you'll recall I have no swim trunks anymore, since I lost mine at the water park. I wish I knew where they got to; I'd mend them. You know West will never give me money for new trunks. Plus, having the Danish flag design! Well, Denmark, you know I love you, and I'd love to have your flag design covering the awesome five meters."

"Ha ha. Take them."

"What? Seriously? You don't want them?" Prussia jumped up and held them up against himself. "They're so nice! Why don't you want them?" He gave Denmark a very concerned look.

"They're not my size! I'd never fit in those. They'd be way too tight."

"Kesesese, I bet Finland just wants to admire your firm Danish buttocks, my friend." He ruffled the spiky hair and Denmark grabbed him, pulling him onto the bed with a little growl.

"I don't give a damn what Finland wants. I want to see you try on those trunks," he demanded.

"All right. Just hold on, I'll go change." Prussia tried to head to the bathroom but Den grabbed him by the back of his boxers, nearly ripping them.

"No. I want you to put them on out here."

Prussia's eyes widened and he got a very funny little smirk on his face. "All right. I can awesomely do that. But turn the television off. I don't want to be competing with the game."

Denmark snorted and used the remote to turn off the television.

"Too bad we don't have any striptease music handy," Prussia said, beginning to gyrate. "I bet I'd be an excellent stripper."

Denmark watched in disbelief as Prussia danced a striptease to music only the albino could hear. When he finally took his boxers off, he flung them at Den's head with a big goofy smile. They landed on his head, and when he managed to uncover his eyes, Prussia was dressed in the swim trunks, grinning like an idiot.

"You're an idiot," Denmark said, turning the TV back on.

"What? _What?_ After I did that awesome striptease, without even needing any music, and then you got to see me in your cool new Danish swim trunks? Turn the television off. Give me that remote _._ " He jumped on the bed and began wrestling Denmark for the remote; the Dane got up and took it to the other side of the room. Prussia chased him, yelling, "Come on, give it to me! Don't make me beg, Denmark, _pleeease_? You know I want it!"

…

On the other side of the wall, Romano and England stopped what they were doing and cringed. "I don't even want to know," Romano groaned.

"Some days I wish he was still my enemy," England agreed, as they pulled pillows over their heads to muffle the noise.


	99. Muscle Beach

**Muscle Beach.**

Romano had very strongly resisted coming to Muscle Beach, because he was afraid of looking like the proverbial 98-pound weakling. It had taken the calm, combined efforts of Denmark (who explained why it was called Muscle Beach) and England (who kept his hand over Prussia's mouth to keep him from interfering with the explanation) to talk him into going.

It was only called Muscle Beach because of some workout equipment on site, so he'd finally agreed, and now they were spreading out their gear on the sand, setting up a rented beach umbrella, and so on. Romano immediately flopped face-down on a towel, not concerned with sun protection, while the other three dug through their bags for sunscreen.

"Will you put sunscreen on me, Prussia?" Denmark asked, holding out his bottle.

"Kesesese!" Prussia, in his new Danish flag swim trunks, took it and sat up to begin rubbing it on Denmark.

"Dammit. Why can't you just rub the fucking stuff on him without all the damn innuendo? You drive me nuts, bastard."

"Wow, you're sour today. All I was doing was laughing. I'm happy to be here! This is a big-time famous beach and I'm happy. So, stop whining." Prussia stuck his tongue out at Romano, who rolled his eyes and tried to go to sleep. "I want some pictures of me doing awesome muscley things later."

"Bastard."

"Hello?" England asked, poking the brunet. "Are you going to suncream me, or do I have to get Gilbert to rub this nice cream all over my pale body?" He fished in his bag and pulled out his sunscreen.

Romano turned bright red and covered his entire head with his arms while the others laughed at him, so he called England's bluff. "Get the albino potato to do it."

"I don't mind," Prussia told them, "but somebody has to do me first; I'm the most vulnerable to sun damage." He was still massaging sunscreen into the backs of Denmark's legs.

They heard a little titter from a short ways away; when they looked in that direction, two teenage girls giggled and ran off. "Dammit," Romano said again.

"Eh. Let them have their fun." England took the bottle of sunscreen from Prussia's side and began to read it. "Wow. What kind of sunscreen is this?"

"Awesome, isn't it? West has been working on developing this for military work. It's SPF 500+! That means I could stay out in the sun for forty-two hours straight."

Romano, who had come out from hiding, rolled his eyes. "Forty-two hours of sunlight. Right."

Denmark was now fully protected and lay back under the beach umbrella. "Does that mean that tomorrow you wouldn't need to use it? You'd still be protected from today?"

Prussia shrugged. "Technically. At least that's what West tells me. But I have to shower, you know; I can't stand the idea of grainy dirty sunscreen on me overnight." He lay down and let England begin applying sunscreen.

"Oh, Gilbert, you have the sexiest back I ever saw," England joked, trying to give him a massage while he put the cream on. He slipped the bottle of sunscreen back into Prussia's bag. "I love to stroke your pearly albino skin."

Romano snorted and Denmark laughed; a shadow fell on the group. A group of older teen boys was staring at them, blushing. Prussia blew them a kiss and they all ran away.

"Dammit. Is this whole fucking day going to be like this?"

"I bet it is," Denmark laughed lazily. "You're just a teen magnet, Romano."

"Shut up."

Prussia and England then changed places. "May I try some of your fancy suncream?" the island nation asked.

"Kesesese! Sure, I don't mind. I brought six bottles of it and this is only the fourth one, so we should be all right. Only a couple more days left of vacation." He sighed and reached into his bag to grab the bottle, and then started to smear sunscreen on the back of England's lower legs.

"Don't be a pouty bastard. We have a cruise coming up."

"Got a meeting before that." Denmark sounded really sleepy already.

"Where's the next meeting?" Prussia moved up to begin working the cream into England's back. "Maybe I'll go."

"Japan."

"Huh. Maybe I won't."

"What's wrong with Japan?" England asked. "Bloody hell, Gilbert, you're really good at this." He stretched out a little more.

"Kesesese! As good as Romano?"

"How the hell would I know? He never gives me backrubs."

Prussia leaned over and poked Romano with a sunscreened fingertip. "That's pretty brutal. You should give him one sometime."

"Cheh, yeah, whatever, bastard. Stop getting goo on me, and let me sleep."

The albino finished putting the sunscreen on England's back and lay down, chin on hands, staring at the ocean. "Anyway, I'm just not comfortable with Japan. Because of the language and stuff."

"But he's the potato bastard's buddy, so you guys should get along great," Romano said. England sat up and began applying the fancy German stuff to his arms and chest, and the front of his legs.

"Theoretically, but – nah. I'm not going to go. That all right with you, Den? Den?"

But Denmark was already asleep.

"Hah," Romano said weakly, sounding half asleep himself.

"Let him sleep," Prussia told the other two. "He was really worn out last night."

England laughed and Romano hid his head again. "Shut _up_ , albino potato."

"Yes, all right. Hey, Arthur, let's go swim."

"This sunscreen won't wash off?" the blond asked.

"Nope! Totally awesome."

"That all right with you, Romano? Romano?"

But he was asleep too.

"Come on, let's leave the snoozers and go swim!" Prussia jumped up and ran to the water, and England chased him, laughing.

"Thought the chatty bastards would never leave," Romano muttered to himself.

"Tell me about it," the snoozy Denmark replied.

And that was the last thing either of them said, for a while.

…

"Quarterfinals on Sunday," Denmark said later.

"Ooh! Who's playing?" Prussia grabbed a can of soda from his bag, and then noticed the other three staring at him like he was an idiot. "What's the matter with all of you?"

"It's England versus Italy, you moronic git. I can't believe you didn't know that." England pinched him in the arm and took his soda, opening it and guzzling some.

"Ow! Hey, Arthur, not cool! Give me my soda back!"

Laughing, Romano took the can. "Mm, delicious, potato brain. Thanks." He polished it all off and threw the empty can back at Prussia, who was looking furious.

"You really are an idiot sometimes," Denmark said. "Are we going to watch the match, or what?"

"Kesesese! Yes. Ooh, you know what? We should –"

"No, we shouldn't," Den interrupted him.

"What? I was only going to say we should watch it in the hotel bar, so that if the loser gets drunk he won't have too far to stagger after the game."

"That's an asinine reason," Romano said, "but what the hell. I won't have to drag drunk boy very far, if we're in the hotel."

"As if I'm going to lose," England sneered.

"We'll see, bastard. We'll see."

…

Later on, Denmark needed another sunscreening, but both Prussia and England declined. "The awesome German sunscreen will protect us."

"Hey, Prussia. Let's go in the water." Den, after the new cream was applied, grabbed the albino by the arm.

"Sure, I don't mind." They got up and went in to swim. "What did you think I was going to say about the match?" Prussia wondered.

"Thought you were going to say 'we should make a bet.'" Denmark floated around on his back a little.

"Oh! We totally should, though. That would be awesome."

Denmark splashed him. "Are you nuts? Romano would rip our balls off and shove them down our throats if he knew we were making a bet about him."

"Well, we wouldn't have to tell them, you know."

"You'd blab, Prussia; you always do."

"Probably. And he'd be even more mad when he found out I'd bet on Arthur."

"What? No way. _I'm_ betting on England."

"Except we're not actually betting, kesesese."

Denmark thought about this. Now he really wanted to make this bet, and he wanted to bet on England. "On the other hand," he said slowly, "imagine how much goodwill you'd earn from Romano if he ever did find out that you bet on him. You'd probably have a whole year, a _whole_ _year_ of him not giving you any shit at all."

"Unless he lost."

"No. I bet just knowing that you chose him would be a good deterrent! Even _if_ he lost."

"I know what you're trying to do, Den. You want to bet on England, so you're trying to talk me into betting on Romano." He splashed Denmark rather thoroughly, cackling.

"Hey! Knock it off!" Den reached over and shoved him underwater.

Prussia came up spluttering. "You oaf."

"You know you love me."

"Pfft. Are we making this bet or not?"

"Are you going to bet on Romano?"

"What are the terms of the bet?" Prussia splashed him again, just for good measure.

"Oaf yourself. Well, tomorrow's the match, and then we have one more full day before we go home. Let's say loser buys dinner on the day after the match? It'll be our last real dinner here. Let's make it a good one."

"All right. I'll awesomely bet on Romano. Don't tell him we had this discussion, though!"

"Kesesese," Denmark joked, just before pushing Prussia underwater again.

…

When they came out of the water, England was lying on his back, asleep in the sun; Romano had moved under the beach umbrella to read. "Bastard, are you sure this sunscreen is going to work? England's looking a little pink on his back. That's why I made him sleep that way instead of face-down."

"It's awesomely all right, I tell you. Look at me! Perfectly normal, and I've been out in the water, where the sun is reflected even more strongly."

"You are looking a little pink, though," Denmark said critically, looking him over.

"I'm telling you, West knows what he's doing. I've been using this sunscreen ever since we got here. No sign of sunburn, not even on the water park day. You two are a couple of worrywarts."

"Cheh, whatever. If this bottle was a fail, don't come crying to me."

"I'll go crying to Den," Prussia agreed cheerfully, pulling another soda out of the backpack.

For a little while, everyone settled in and daydreamed, or read. A group of fit mothers with young children walked back and forth in front of them a few times, but only Romano responded, with a sweet smile and a wave at the children. "Kesesese," Prussia said quietly, at this.

"Shut up," Romano replied just as quietly, still smiling at the women. Eventually they, too, walked away, possibly because Denmark's snores had gotten so loud.

…

Romano woke up, chilled. " _Chigi_! Hey, we fell asleep, wake up!" Dammit, it was almost sundown!

The other three fought their way out of sleep. "Uh?" Denmark said.

"Bollocks. Even _with_ your amazing suncream I feel like I got burnt." England looked down at his body. "Well, the front looks okay. How does my back look?" He stood up.

"Whew," Den whistled. "You look really pink. Pull your waistband down."

England did this. "Bastard, what the hell? Your back is like a fucking lobster!" Romano shoved the still-sleepy Prussia. "You moron. You and that stupid asshole brother of yours. Look what you did!"

"Huh?" Prussia yawned. "I don't get it, though. Because I really have been using it every day the last few weeks." He rummaged in his bag and pulled out a bottle. "Oh, shit."

"Uh-oh. What did you do to poor England?" Denmark punched him.

"This is just moisturizer. This is the stuff I use at night. Oops."

"What the fuck did you even pack that for?" Romano punched him, this time.

"Everybody stop punching me! Den packed the bag, not me."

" _Denmark,_ " England growled, but then he stopped himself. "No, wait a minute. I picked up the bottle, and I read it. That's why I asked you about it."

Prussia dug through the bag again. "Yeah, here it is. Wow, those bottles do look really similar."

Romano put his head in his hands and groaned. "You idiot. Now I'm going to have to put up with his whining all night."

"Kesesese!" Prussia moved away before Romano could punch him again.

"No sense getting vindictive about it, gits," the island nation sighed. "Let's just go back to the hotel. Maybe a cool bath will help me."

"At least we had a fun day at the beach," Denmark added, hoping to find the silver lining, as they packed up their gear and left.


	100. Italy vs England

_This chapter is about the 2012 UEFA Euro Championship._

 _..._

 **Italy versus England.**

"I feel _so good_ today," the island nation said, as the four friends headed down to the hotel bar at midmorning. "I feel great, healthy as hell, and England is going to win!"

"Bullshit," Romano laughed, poking him. "I feel just as great, you know, and dammit, Italy is going to win."

"Kesesese! I'm glad you two aren't fighting, although I suppose it's just a matter of time, huh?"

"No. Romano and I are mature adults and we made an agreement to behave like gentlemen today. It's just a game, after all." They turned to face each other and nodded sedately.

"I just hope it's a fun match to watch. Nothing worse than boring football." Denmark was in a pretty good frame of mind, too. Since he'd talked Prussia into betting on Romano, he was pretty certain of a win on England's part, and a win of the bet, trivial though it actually was.

The four of them slipped into a booth. "Hey, this bar is great," Prussia noticed. "I didn't pay much attention when we were here the other night, but they have TVs at all the right angles! I don't even have to crane my neck."

Denmark looked at his friends, opponents for today, who were sitting together on the opposite side of the booth. "Are you two sure you want to sit next to each other?"

"Why the fuck not? I'm not going to sit next to the albino potato."

"Hey, maybe we should." Prussia nodded. "Because then – ow!" He gave Denmark a funny look and then his face cleared.

Denmark tried to act nonchalant. "Sorry, my elbow slipped." Of course everyone seemed suspicious of that, so he picked up a menu and began browsing to hide his guilty face. Prussia did the same.

By the time the waitress came, the noise level at their table was already fairly loud. England treated them all to an introductory round of ale while they waited for their early lunch.

"I hate beer," Romano said, drinking it.

"Just drink it." England, beaming, poked him.

"If you think you're going to get me drunk and make me lose my concentration, forget it, bastard."

"That was the furthest thing from my mind. Not sporting at all."

"Thank you." Romano nodded solemnly.

"You're welcome." They shook hands. "I'm so full of energy! My people are pumped and bloody optimistic." England then shook hands with both Prussia and Denmark, in his excess of enthusiasm.

"No shit. Mine are too." Romano, not to be outdone, bumped fists with his friends. "There must be a ton of Italian football fans here in America, because, let me tell you, today feels even better than when I'm at home and we play for the cup." He took a deep breath and stretched his arms to the ceiling.

"Hey, that makes me wonder," Prussia asked them. "When Italy as a nation does something like this, do you have to, well, share that feeling with Veneziano? Or do you both feel the whole benefit of the people?"

"You ought to know, albino potato; you and your bastard brother are just the same way."

"Well, yeah, but we didn't have things like this back when I was a real nation. I do get a little bit of benefit, but I'm so happy and optimistic all the time that I barely notice."

Everyone ignored that and drank, and then Romano answered the question. "But, yeah, my _fratello_ and I both feel pretty fucking good about stuff like this. And we have every right to! Because we're going to win!"

"Wanker. You're not. I guarantee it."

This was interrupted by the waitress bringing their food. The inevitable fish and chips for England ("I hope it's tolerable"), a plate of pasta with chicken for Romano, and burgers with fries for the other two.

Gameplay commenced while they ate and drank. "Huh. Italy's looking damn good," Prussia announced with a fake, beaming grin.

"You know, I'm surprised you gits didn't make a dumb bet about this." England, focused on his food, didn't notice the death glare that Denmark directed at Prussia, who polished off his beer very quickly.

But Romano did notice. "You did make a bet, didn't you? You total bastards!" He leaned over the table and grabbed Prussia by the shirt collar. "What's the fucking bet? Come on, tell me!" He shook the albino violently.

"Let go of me! Damn, Romano, you're as bad as Denmark. How did you know we made a bet?"

Denmark put his head in his hands. "Why the hell do I even bother?" he asked of no one in particular, then put Prussia in a headlock. "You idiot."

"Ow. Come on, Den, let go. Somebody let go of me!"

Romano let go and sat back down. "I can't believe you bastards bet on us."

Denmark let go of Prussia with a frown. Prussia just shrugged and drank some beer.

"Don't worry, Romano," England smiled. "They probably both bet that England will win." He leaned over and pecked a kiss on his infuriated boyfriend's nose.

" _Chigi!_ Shut up!" Romano shoved him.

England immediately lost his playful smile and began growling; the two of them started shouting at each other, getting right in each other's face. Den and Prussia, meanwhile, sat back and drank, hoping Romano had forgotten about the bet.

He shoved England one more time, knocking him off-kilter, and on screen, the Italian player kicked the ball towards the goal.

England bounced up off the seat as the English goalkeeper made a save. "Stop shoving, wanker. Settle down; we're only in the beginning of the first half."

"Bastard." Romano drank the rest of his beer very quickly. "Who bet on what?"

Den and Prussia looked at each other, and then Denmark made a motion to allow the albino to speak. "Well, Romano, you know I love you, so…I totally bet on Italy."

" _What?_ " Romano was red-faced and England began laughing at him. "You stupid bastard! You're going to jinx me!"

By now both the others were all laughing at him and he picked up his beer to fling at Prussia, but the glass was empty.

"You can't seriously be mad at me!" Prussia looked totally baffled, and Denmark was in hysterics. "Den convinced me you'd go a whole year without being mad at me, if I bet on you!"

Romano growled and stood up to grab Prussia's shirt collar and start shaking him again. "Convinced you? _Convinced_ you? You fucking idiot! You wanted to bet on England, but Den made you bet on me?" Shake, shake, shake.

"Stop! Oh, Romano, stop, I'm going to be sick."

The half-nation abruptly let go and Prussia sank into his seat, groaning and leaning against Denmark. "Ohhh…"

"Cheer up, Teutonic Knights; you still have a chance to win the bet."

"I hate you, Den."

Denmark pinched his white cheek. "Hate you too, you adorable little thing. Drink your beer."

Romano was still fuming, so England reached over and squeezed his hand. "Don't worry about it. I bet you have at least a 25% chance of winning." He smirked.

"You bastard. I think I'm going to break up with you." He scowled into his beer.

"Don't do it, Romano," Den pointed out. "You know you love him." He grinned.

"I hate all you bastards. Shut the fuck up."

England downed his drink and cheered as the English goalkeeper made another save. "Yes! We are so awesome." He did a little dance in the booth seat. "Come on, Romano, don't be sour. We were going to be gentlemen about it, right? It's not my fault Gilbert's such a wanker. Come on." He put his chin on Romano's shoulder and whispered something in his ear, making the brunet smile.

"Cheh, yeah, all right." He motioned the waitress for another round of drinks.

"Beer again, Romano? You're really being tolerant today."

"Listen, albino potato, I –"

But Denmark interrupted before this could escalate. "Your players are looking good, Romano."

The dangerous fucking bastards stopped their fighting for a little while to watch the match. Italy as a team was indeed playing very well. They had excellent control and looked coordinated; the English team looked sloppy by comparison, running around madly and not accomplishing much. Denmark was beginning to wonder if he'd made a mistake, betting on the island nation.

But it was early yet, only about halfway through the first period. There was plenty of time.

"This fish and chips is terrible."

"What did you expect? America's not known for his fish and chips, Arthur."

"It doesn't even taste of fish! Bloody idiot."

"Did you ever try teaching him to cook?" Denmark wondered.

"Don't answer that, bastard." Romano elbowed England. "Pay attention to the match. Look how good we look!" He sighed happily. "My team is awesome. We're going to cream those fucking bastards."

England punched him in the arm, fairly hard, and an Italian player fell down on the field. "Shut it!"

"Whoops. Sorry." Romano did look moderately contrite for a minute but then turned back to the game. " _Vaffanculo!_ That stupid ref needs a new pair of fucking glasses!"

England shoved him again. "Just because your bloody players can't walk and chew gum at the same ti—"

Prussia and Denmark, now with fresh beer, sat back and enjoyed both shows: the football match and the drama unfolding across the table. The two opponents were yelling at each other again. Italy tried to score; England made a save. "Hah!"

"Shut up, you idiot. Just because you made a save? We are going to win, you know." Romano dragged his eyes away from England and met those of Denmark, who was smirking at him. "And you, you fucking traitor, I can't believe you wanted to bet on England and not me!"

"'S just a little bet," Denmark laughed into his beer. "Not like I'm going to take all Prussia's casino money if I win."

"How much of that have you got left, anyway?" England wondered.

"About half. I invested it, and some of my stocks went up, and some went down."

"Just like life." Denmark nodded. "So you have plenty to buy dinner with tomorrow."

"Shut the fuck up about your stupid bet. We should make a rule, no betting on each other."

"Nope! Unawesome, Romano. You know Den has his betting complex. He'd never be able to follow that rule."

"Prussia. Shut up! Watch the match." Denmark needed another drink.

"Ten minutes left," England pointed out cheerfully, grinning at the TV screen.

"What? What the hell was that?" Romano erupted, as a replay showed an English player grabbing an Italian player's shirt. "Grabby bastards! What the fuck is that ref thinking? Why didn't he call that?"

"England's going to win, England's going to win," England sang.

Romano turned in the seat to face him. "If you don't shut up with all this goddamn patriotic shit I'm going to beat the daylights out of you."

"Yeah? You and whose football team?"

Once again the two went forehead to forehead, screaming and shoving, and Prussia and Den were laughing at them.

And then all of a sudden Romano's eyes widened as he looked at England, and England's eyes widened as he looked at Romano. "We should settle this outside the bar," Romano said quickly, breathlessly.

"Right. See you wankers after the half." The two of them went running out of the bar together.

"That was kind of random," Denmark said. "They weren't really being _that_ bad."

"Kesesese. Want to make another bet?"

"What? Don't you think we're in enough trouble already for betting?"

"No, this is a little one, and it makes sense. I bet Arthur will have a black eye before we split up to go to bed tonight."

"He was a _pirate!_ You really think he'd let Romano punch him in the eye? Not taking that bet."

"All right. Party pooper. I'm going to check, though, just for the fun of it. Romano's so wound up he could totally do it."

"Bullshit." Den burped and drank. "Anyway, I don't think they're actually fighting right now. They'll settle it their own private way."

" _Oh._ " Prussia blushed a little as he realized what Den was driving at. "You really think that's what they'll do?"

"Hey, I'd do it, if you and I were fighting like that."

"Hah. Wish I'd known that. I would have fought with you on the day that you played West."

"I was a little worried about that match," Denmark confessed. "Didn't want to call attention to it, so I didn't say anything."

"Aw. Den. You're adorable."

"Yeah, I know. Drink up; it's almost time for the second half, and those two ought to be back soon."

…

When Romano and England came back into the bar, both smiling faintly and acting rather calm, they slipped into the booth together, and Prussia burst out laughing. "No bruises, I hope?"

"We'll see," England said enigmatically, and Denmark started laughing, too.

The second half was much the same as the first, except that Denmark started yelling at the players too. "Those Italians are drama queens," he grumbled.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Romano thundered. "What?"

"Look at them! They're totally playing for sympathy. That guy fell down and started whining and there was nobody else even near him!"

"He hurt himself, bastard. He fell down because he hurt his leg."

"Yeah, so explain why the Italian team is getting grabby all of a sudden? Your blind ref finally started calling it every time one of England's players grabbed a shirt, but he's letting the Italians slide? This is a cheap match." Denmark shredded a napkin and threw the pieces into his empty beer glass.

"Ah, just let them play, Den." Prussia poked him. "It's going to be interesting, no matter what happens."

"You mean, when England wins."

Romano got a bit of a devious look on his face and picked up a menu, holding it up like a shield so that Prussia and Denmark couldn't see him and England.

"Whoa! Italy score!" Prussia yelled, dancing in the seat.

Romano threw the menu down, smirking, and the red-faced England was furious. "You _bloody bastard._ "

"No, he was offside," Den said, trying to calm England down. "No goal."

"Ha bloody ha," the island nation sang. "You'll have to try harder next time."

"Believe me, bastard, I will."

England punched him, and Romano punched back.

As they continued fighting, Prussia leaned over and said quietly, "See, Den? You should have taken that bet!"

Romano stopped fighting immediately; England's final shove sent him back against the wall. "Now what fucking bet?"

"Nothing. We didn't make it, so it's completely immaterial. Have a beer."

"No way! I have to concentrate so the stupid island bastards don't win." Romano put his elbows on the table and tried to ignore England, who was disheveled and red-faced but grinning again.

Moments later the game ended with no score. "Dammit, another half hour of overtime? Dammit!" Romano smacked the table. "Come on, bastards, score!" he yelled at the television.

Prussia poked him. "Hey, Romano."

"What?"

"You know whoever wins today goes on to play West on Thursday."

Romano didn't change his position, but all the blood drained from his face. "Dammit."

England put an arm around him and squeezed. "You have nothing to worry about."

"You do!" The brunet punched him again and soon they were in another squabble. This one lasted until the end of the first fifteen-minute overtime period.

"Geez, take a break, you two. It's almost over." Denmark waved the waitress away when she came back for another drink order.

"Why did you stop ordering beer?" the albino wondered.

"Are you kidding? If these two have any more beer they'll kill each other, and then us!"

"Oh, right."

"Denmark, you have mortally wounded my soul," England declaimed, but Romano just snorted at him.

"Game on," he said, tiredly, nodding towards the TV screen.

England was looking a little haggard, too, and by the end of the second overtime, the score was still 0-0. "Wow," Denmark enthused. "Never saw a match like this one!"

"Kesesese! Well, you did say you didn't want to watch a boring match."

Players lined up for penalty kicks. All four nations held their breath.

"Yes!" Romano stood up in the booth and cheered.

"Ha ha!" England did the same, shoving Romano aside.

Italy's second player missed the kick, and the half-nation sunk to the table, face in his hands. "Oh, no, no, no, no…" he whimpered quietly, listening to England crow and caper when the second English player scored.

But within minutes the match was over; Italy had won on penalty kicks. "Bastards. I'll treat to dinner tomorrow. Best dinner in town." A beaming Romano stood up in the booth and took a bow, ignoring the fallen England, whose head was on the table. "Let's go ask the concierge where to eat."

"Congratulations." Denmark solemnly shook the brunet's hand.

"Awesome way to win, Romano! Kesesese!" Prussia tried to give him a kiss but Romano squirmed away.

"You played well," Denmark said, poking England.

"Eh."

"Oh, come on, bastard, stop being such a – a _party pooper_ ," Romano laughed. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

"Ohh…" England moaned, not moving.

"Let me out of the fucking booth, stupid." Despite the usual harsh language, the Italian was grinning maniacally.

Denmark got out of his side of the booth and dragged England out. "Ow. Stop pulling, git."

"Why do you think you didn't do well?" Den asked him. "I thought you'd do better than you did."

"I hurt all over, because of the bloody _sunburn._ "

"Kesesese! And it was all Den's fault that you got sunburned! Ha, Den, you sabotaged your own bet!" Prussia came out of the booth with his arm around Romano, the two of them laughing and jabbing the morose blonds.

"Prussia, you drive me nuts."

But Romano took Prussia's face in his hands and gave him a little kiss on the nose, along with a wicked smile. "Thanks for betting on me, albino potato. Sorry I bit you in the nose that time."

"Awesomely all right, my friend. Come on; let's go do something to cheer these losers up."

" _Gilbert…"_

…

The afternoon had not gone well. England had been sulky and tired all day, despite Prussia's attempts to cheer him up. And Romano had pretty much ignored him. Instead, the brunet and Prussia had been equally obnoxious, laughing, joking, hugging each other. Denmark hadn't been too happy either.

It was late when they got back to the hotel. "Arthur, come here," Prussia said, as they split up to go into their hotel rooms.

"What now?" But he came closer.

Prussia took his friend's head in his hands and turned it this way and that, examining it closely. "Well, you would have won, Den," he sighed, patting England on the back.

"Bastards."

"See you tomorrow morning? We have to figure out what to do for our last day."

"Cheh, yeah. All right. Nine o'clock?"

"Sounds good to me! Kesesese!"

…

"Get in the other bed," England growled, once he was ready for bed.

"As if I'd sleep in the same bed with you. You're a complete self-centered bastard. I never saw anybody so whiny about a stupid game before. You made the whole fucking day miserable."

"Like you would have been any different, if you'd lost? You're bloody miserable _all the time_. So shut it and leave me alone."

"Suit yourself, loser."

England rolled over so his back was to Romano, and the brunet got in the other bed with his back to England.

There was a resolute silence.

Then Romano got up and turned off the lights, which he had forgotten to do. Should he say good night? Nah. The bastard was too uptight. Well, let him sleep alone, it would serve him right. He didn't deserve any cuddling, not with a champion nation like Italy. Hah.

…

In the middle of the night Romano woke up and automatically rolled over to snuggle up to England, before remembering the blond was in the other bed. Dammit.

He lay on his back, now fully awake, and stared at the ceiling. Shit. Both of them had shown a pretty serious lack of sportsmanship today.

But, hell, he wasn't going to go creeping over into the other bed! That wasn't the mark of a champion. He rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.

…

England woke up; the clock said 4:30. He tried to peer at Romano in the other bed, but couldn't see him very well in the dark.

Bollocks. He'd been pretty rude to his friend, who had played so well. And they'd said they'd be gentlemen about it. The island nation debated going over to the other bed and then changed his mind. He knew Romano would give him shit about it. Sighing, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

…

When the sun peeked in through the slit in the curtains, England opened his eyes; he turned his head towards Romano, still half asleep.

But as he woke fully and began to focus, he noticed Romano was staring right back at him. England didn't bother to look away, or close his eyes. Maybe Romano _would_ break up with him? Maybe this was the last time they'd be together. So he looked and looked, taking in every detail, smiling faintly, reminiscing, trying not to feel too sad.

"You're thinking some sappy thoughts, aren't you?"

"Er. Yes." He felt himself blushing.

"Uh. Me too." Romano broke the intense stare. "Can I – can I get in the bed with you?"

England's expression changed to a bright smile. "Of course you can." He opened up the covers and Romano slipped in, shyly. "Sorry."

"Yeah, me too, bastard. You – uh – you played well."

"So did you, my champion."

…

When Prussia and Denmark moved to open the connecting door, they found a note had been slid underneath it. Prussia opened it and read it. "Kesesese! They want us to go have fun without them; they'll see us for dinner."

Denmark blew out a sigh of tension. "Good; I'm glad everything's all right. Come on, Teutonic Knights. Let's go see something fun in Hollywood."


	101. Wrapping Up

**Wrapping Up.**

"You know what, Den? I'm kind of glad we can be alone today. I feel a little more relaxed."

"Glad to hear it." Denmark ruffled Prussia's hair. "What are we going to do now?"

After a busy morning of visiting all the shops and attractions Prussia had missed, or wanted to return to, including the macabre Museum of Death (which they both knew Romano would never nerve himself up to enter), they had gone back to Pink's for a low-key lunch and were now heading back towards the hotel, laden with the albino's souvenirs. "Well, frankly I can't believe you didn't buy more souvenirs! We should get you something awesome."

"Hey, I have the memories; I don't need any souvenirs. Right?" He grabbed Prussia right in the middle of the sidewalk and kissed him.

"Wow. That's a good memory."

"Best one of the whole vacation? Hah. Now shut up about souvenirs."

"Well, I hope I can fit all this into my awesome wheeled Danish suitcase."

"If not, I can probably stow some for you."

"Kesesese. You're so good to me."

They walked along, talking of nothing much, until – "Is that Romano? What's he doing just standing around?"

"Hey! Romano!" Prussia ran right up to the brunet, who was drinking a coffee on the sidewalk and looking irritated. "What's up? Why are you just standing around? Where's Arthur?"

Romano jerked a thumb towards the shop behind him. "Fucking yarn shop. He's looking for stuff to make the damn hats."

"Why aren't you in there with him? You need to make sure you like the yarn, too!"

By now Denmark had caught up. "Well?"

"Yarn stores are too fucking girly," Romano muttered, and his friends hugged him as best they could with hands full of shopping bags.

"Aw. Totally not true. Come on, let's all go in together."

"What have you bastards been doing?" Romano held the door for the package-laden friends. After Den recapped their day, he snorted. "Glad I wasn't with you. You won't get me to eat another hot dog."

"At least you tried it. I'm proud of you. I'd pat you on the head but my hands are full of bags."

"Save it, albino potato."

They found England in front of a shelf of thick, fluffy yarn, eyes closed, stroking it and smiling faintly. "Bastard, you're creeping me out," Romano said, jolting him.

"Oh!" The island nation opened his eyes. "Er. Hi. Feel this stuff! It's amazing." He held out a skein of white yarn to Prussia, who dropped a bag and took it.

"Whoa! Awesome indeed. Super fluffy. What's it made of?" He petted it and handed it to Romano, who began stroking it absently.

"Cashmere and _mink_. Apparently they – " But England could not continue speaking, because all three of his friends erupted in loud laughter, making the older ladies in the shop look at them disapprovingly. "What's so bloody funny?"

"I can't decide if we should, or should not, have white mink yarn for our hats," Denmark laughed, setting down his bags and hugging the now-scowling Prussia.

"Absolutely not. I was traumatized. Put it away, Arthur," he said airily, handing the yarn back.

"Anybody going to tell me what this is about?"

"No point, bastard. Come on, forget the fucking yarn. Let's go do something with these bozos."

"Yeah, all right. Wankers."

…

"So anyway," Prussia said, as they walked back to the hotel to dump the souvenirs, "since Thursday is Italy versus Germany, do you guys want to come over to watch the match? I'm pretty sure we'll be over our jet lag by then, and I bet Veneziano is going to come over. It would be like a party!"

"I don't mind, but I'm betting on Italy, just so you know," England said. Romano gave him a little smile.

"Me too," Denmark nodded fervently.

"What? Den! How could you? You know how good West's team is; they beat you."

"I'm still betting on Italy." He and Romano shook hands with a nod while England smirked in the background.

"Oh, what the hell. That's all right. We can sit on opposite sides of the room and cheer."

"Are you going to paint your face with the German flag?" Denmark wondered, pinching his cheek.

"No, no, no. Don't be silly. That kind of thing is for attention-seekers." Nobody responded to this. "What? What?"

"Gilbert, you are one hundred percent attention-seeker."

"Two hundred percent," Romano agreed.

"What? Oh, that's so not true. People pay a lot of attention to me, but I don't seek it."

"Don't be silly, Teutonic Knights. We know you, and we know you're an attention-seeker. But we still love you."

"Yeah," the other two chorused.

Prussia stayed in place while his friends walked on, and when they'd gotten a little way away, he yelled, "And I love all you guys!"

Romano facepalmed, but Denmark and England just laughed, seeing passersby turn to look at the loud albino, who now scurried forward to meet them. "Told you. A hundred percent."

Prussia grinned. "Yeah, maybe. Come on. My arms hurt from carrying all these bags."

…

Romano had spoken to the concierge about the best place for a celebratory dinner, and they'd chosen Musso and Frank. "Let's try to act adult tonight, bastards," he said, mainly to Prussia, as they entered the elegant restaurant. He was wearing his white linen suit from the modeling day and looked very fashionable.

"Kesesesese," the albino whispered back, "I can totally do it; watch me."

"Bet?" Denmark asked with a grin.

"I'll take that bet," England immediately replied. "He can't do it." He shook Den's hand.

"I agree with England." Romano shook Den's hand.

And Prussia stood pouting in the lobby.

"Dammit, don't stand there like an idiot. Prove us wrong."

"I awesomely will." Prussia sailed into the restaurant like a diva on parade, letting his friends follow more sedately.

Once they'd been seated and had placed their orders, the albino faced his friends with a serene smile on his face. "I don't care what anybody else thinks. This was a great vacation."

"I agree, bastard. What do you mean, 'what anybody else thinks'? I'm pretty sure we all think it was great."

England snorted. "It had its moments. I would have to disagree on the sunburn and the football loss."

"Don't worry about it," Denmark told him with a smirk. "Both of those are very transitory. You'll rise to become a great football nation again someday."

"Git." England punched him.

"What was your favorite memory?" Den then asked. "Mine was the water park, but you know, that was my birthday too, so…it was definitely the best for me."

"I bet Teutonic Potato didn't like that because he lost his trunks." Romano laughed at the memory. "Or am I wrong?"

"No, no." Prussia shook his head. "That was a good day, but it wasn't the best. I'd have to say the best day was…oh…I don't know! They're all so good!"

Everyone laughed at him. "So, you're all looking forward to the cruise?" England then asked.

"Bastard, you keep talking about this cruise. Are you angling for an invite?"

The island nation shook his head. "Absolutely not. For one thing, I'm going to be up to my arse in work when I get back. I don't think I could spare the time."

"And for another thing?"

"You gits earned it; you should have your own vacation. Don't worry about me."

Prussia nodded. "You can always do stuff with America if you're bored."

"I'm rarely _that_ bored anymore."

Conversation went on, reliving new memories, as the food arrived and was eaten. The friends were growing tired, looking forward to returning to a set routine for a while.

"Is there anything we wanted to do that we missed?"

"I'm glad we got to go to that late-night rooftop movie showing," Prussia laughed. "A very Hollywood thing to do."

"There's probably a ton of stuff we could have done and didn't, though." Denmark tried to think. "But we packed in a lot of stuff."

"Would you ever come back here?" Romano wondered. "I mean, did you like it enough to return to? I don't generally like to do that, because there are so many new places I want to see, but…this was a really good trip, and there are a lot of things we did, that I liked."

"I'd consider it." Prussia thought about this. "Depends on the money situation. Depends who came with me." He beamed at his friends; Romano scowled and shook his head, and Denmark punched him. "Ow. You're still an oaf."

"A big, muscular Viking oaf," Den agreed cheerfully, punching him again. "But you know, I beat you a lot in wars, so it makes sense that I continue to beat you now."

"Even though we're _dating?_ " Prussia whined, punching him back (which had no effect at all).

"Even though you're dating," England laughed.

…

By the end of the meal the mellow friends were quite relaxed with each other, even Romano with Prussia, who had indeed behaved very well. Romano paid the bill and they left to walk back to the hotel. "Thank you, Romano," Prussia said, giving him a weak hug.

"No problem. Thanks for behaving yourself."

"Kesesese!" Prussia began leaping down the street. "It was difficult, but I did it! I win!"

"We never said what we were betting," Denmark countered, smug.

"Damn. Well, you knew I was awesome enough to win; that must be why."

They got to the hotel with Prussia still capering. "What time does our flight leave?"

"Noon. Not enough time for a lie-in," England grumbled. "Not if we have to be there three hours early."

"Dammit. I hate early flights."

Denmark was amazed. "You are the sleepiest nations I ever heard of!"

"Cheh. You forgot about Greece."

"Yes, and I'm too tired for any of your shite."

"Yes, all right. Go sleep, you sleepy boys. We'll see you in the morning."

"Good night, Den. Good night, Lucy."

"'Night, Ethel, good night, Romano."

"Bastards."


	102. A Gift

**A Gift.**

"Hi," England said into the phone, sounding weak.

"Hi yourself? What's the matter?" Romano frowned at the phone. The blond hadn't been able to get away for the Germany-Italy Euro Cup party at the potato bastard's house, because he'd had such a backlog of work. This had pissed Romano off quite a bit, because Italy had absolutely trounced the German fuckers. He and Veneziano had been mighty, mighty smug the rest of the night, and he really wished England could have been there to see it.

He chuckled, remembering Prussia's pouty behavior when Denmark had started crowing about winning that bet. Now the only thing worrying him was that Sunday they'd play against the tomato bastards. For the championship! Dammit.

"Hello? Hello?" England said.

"Uh. Sorry, bastard. What did you say? I was kind of distracted."

"Hah. Distracted by your football prowess, probably."

"Yeah, that, and…we're up against _Spain_ on Sunday! Dammit!"

"Well, forget that for now. I'm proud of you, by the way. Your team played well."

"You watched it? I thought you were busy."

"I was. I am! But I had it on in the background." He cleared his throat. "I admit I didn't get much work done. I was watching and thinking about you." The blond's voice grew more affectionate. "I'm really happy to be with you, you know."

Romano felt himself blushing and started stalking around his living room with the phone. "I – you – yeah, thanks, bastard. Me too." He stalked a little more as an embarrassed silence descended, and then: "So why did you call, anyway?"

"Do you have plans for the weekend?" England's voice was still soft.

"Bastard, if you think I'm going to go fucking around while my team plays _Spain's_ –"

"No! No. I, er, I got two tickets to the final. I thought we could go and cheer your team on in person. I'm even willing to seek some attention by painting the Italian flag on my face."

Romano couldn't fight a grin. "That would be excellent. Thank you. But it's in Kiev; are you able to travel so far? I mean, if you're that busy?"

"If you can come up tonight, or early tomorrow, we can fly over on Sunday morning and get a little sightseeing done? Unless you're too tired from the LA trip."

"Not a problem. As long as the albino potato isn't around to act hyper and freak me out, I'll be all right. It'd be nice to spend a little time alone with you, without them lurking in the next room."

"Hah. You're not kidding. Well, let's talk about travel."

Plans were hastily made for Romano to come to London that night, and the two nations rang off.

…

Romano rang the blond's doorbell and was flabbergasted when a pair of pale hands reached out, pulling him inside. Before he could recover he felt strong arms wrap around him and a kiss pressed to his lips. "Mmm," England growled, "I have missed you _so much_. I'm glad you're here."

"Me too, bastard," the brunet answered somewhat breathlessly. "But it's only been five days!"

"Five days of nonstop work. It seemed like everything I looked at, everything I had to attend to, made me think of you. Very frustrating."

"You're not so tired now, are you?"

"Heh. No. Come in." England led him by the hand into the living room.

Romano felt all his breath leave him in a rush. "Wh-what?" The room was lit with possibly a hundred candles, inside the cold fireplace and on every available surface, perfuming the air with the delicate scents of an English garden. A big pile of pillows lay on the floor with cool sheets stacked nearby. Near the fireplace, an ice bucket held a bottle of champagne, and two glasses stood beside it. "What is all this?"

"Do I need an excuse to celebrate with my beloved Germany-trouncing football champion?" England smiled. "Come and lie down. I didn't make a fire, since it's so warm out, but I wanted to make it memorable."

"Don't think you're going to wear me out and let fucking Spain win the match."

"You know I wouldn't dream of it," England murmured, pulling him down onto the pillows.

…

"I have something for you," England said later, as they cuddled up for sleep.

"What is it? Not some stupid hat."

"N-no. Something I should have given you a while ago. Do you want me to go get it?"

Romano was intrigued. "Sure, if you're not too tired."

"I'm not." England hugged him and then got up, wrapping a sheet around his waist and going to hunt for the mystery item.

When he came back he handed Romano a shopping bag. "Sorry I didn't wrap it. Trying to do my part for the environment, not wasting so many trees on wrapping paper."

"I really like how you're always thinking of that shit."

England blushed, visible even in the flickering candlelight. "Just open it, wanker."

Romano reached in and drew out a very fluffy – "Oh! My sweater!" He smiled at England. "I'd completely forgotten."

"Well, er, I'm sorry it took me so long to knit it."

The brunet hugged him and the sweater got sandwiched between them. "Thank you. It doesn't even matter."

"It does! It's the middle of summer now; you won't be able to wear it for a long time." England grimaced. "I did slack on it. I'm sorry."

"Forget about it, bastard." Romano spread it out on the sheet. "It's really nice. The colors look better than I'd thought. You did a great job."

Now England beamed at him. "I'm glad you like it. Put it away."

"Now what?" He set the sweater off to the side of the room. "Sleep?"

"Yes. I'm exhausted."

Romano smirked. "I know." Then he looked around the room. "What about the candles? Don't we have to blow them out before we go to sleep?"

"Oh. Right." England waved a hand in a funny way and all the candles went out at once. "There."

"Mystic bastard. You scare the shit out of me sometimes."

"Mm, nothing to be scared of. Come closer and I'll prove it."

"Bastard." But he moved closer to the blond. "Hey. Don't use any magic in the match on Sunday, all right?"

"Wanker. If I were going to use magic in a match, I would have done it when England played Italy!"

"Yes, all right, whatever. Shut up and let's go to sleep."

"Not just yet." England began kissing him, and Romano soon found that all thoughts of sleep had fled his mind completely.


	103. Italy vs Spain

**Italy versus Spain.**

"Germany! Germany! I'm so glad you came over to watch the match, ve. We are going to do so well."

"If the prowess you showed at our match was any indication, I'm certain that you will. But where is Romano?"

Veneziano brought a bottle of wine and two glasses out in front of the television set, where Germany was sitting stiffly on the floor. "England got tickets to go to the match! They're in Kiev, ve, watching from the stands."

"That must be very exciting for him."

"For both of us. Ve, Germany, give me a kiss. Get my team excited and pumped."

Germany obliged.

…

"All right, Den, this is going to be awesome." Prussia and Denmark had camped on the floor in front of Den's television. Behind them sat a cooler full of beer (mixed German and Danish). Denmark had a bag of pretzels and Prussia a box of cherry cupcakes. A coffee table sat in front of them, and each nation had a stack of Euros on that table in front of him. Prussia's, a haphazard pile of bills and coins, contrasted strongly with Denmark's neat piles, sorted by denomination.

"Right, so what's the bet going to be?" Den drank some beer. "And how much?"

"We both want to bet on Italy, right?"

"Well, if we do, Romano won't kill us when we see him. Why isn't he here, anyway?"

"Kesesese! Veneziano said Arthur got them tickets to the match, so they're in Kiev. Maybe we'll see them on TV!" He drank some beer. "Anyway, let's do little bets. I bet…Spain gets the first goal."

"That's a good one. All right. I'll bet Italy gets the first goal. Five Euros?"

"Five Euros," Prussia agreed, shaking his hand.

…

"These are great seats, bastard. Thanks for bringing me. You're damn good to me." They clambered into their seats at the side of the pitch.

England grinned at the Italian flag painted on Romano's cheek, the twin to his own. "Have every reason to be, you adorable wanker."

"What the hell; give me a hug, maybe it will get the team excited." They hugged excitedly and turned to watch the start of the game.

…

"Ve, Germany! Give me another kiss for good luck."

"I never mind giving you kisses, Italy, no matter what the reason is." Germany leaned over and kissed Veneziano.

…

"Bastard, I have this really insane desire to kiss you, for some reason. Bring the team some luck."

"Er – are you sure? I don't mind, but – er –"

"Just shut up and kiss me."

England leaned in towards Romano with a grin on his face.

…

"Den! _Look in the stands!_ It's Arthur and Romano! They're going to kiss, kesesese! On international television!"

"No way. Five Euros?"

"Five Euros." They shook hands again just as England's lips met Romano's on the big screen.

"Damn." Denmark slapped a fiver onto Prussia's money pile with a disgusted grimace.

The crowd began to roar. "Italy score?" Prussia wondered.

Denmark was paying more attention, though. "Uh-oh."

The camera cut to the Italian goal, where the Spanish players danced around in joy. The Spanish fans were laughing and screaming. Denmark put his head in his hands. "Shit." He put another five-Euro note on Prussia's pile.

…

"You fucking _bastard._ "

"Hey, I tried to tell you it might be a bad idea, git."

"Shut the fuck up. Don't talk to me."

"Romano, you can't possibly blame that on me."

"Want to bet?"

"If this is the only goal of the entire game, then maybe, _maybe_ you could pin it on me. But if either of you scores again, obviously it's nothing to do with me."

"Shut up, bastard. Leave me alone."

"Git."

…

Denmark and Prussia listened to the commentators discussing the Spain goal, Prussia grinning and Denmark scowling. "New bet?" Prussia asked.

"Now what? Next goal?" Denmark scooped up some pretzels, crushing them in his powerful fist and pouring the crumbs into his mouth before washing them down with more beer.

"Nope. I bet Romano's super-pissed now. He's going to say Arthur was distracting him."

"That's bullshit. Even Romano wouldn't be that babyish. Five Euros?"

"Five Euros." Shaking hands again, the two nations turned back to the TV.

"How are we even going to validate that?" Denmark wondered. "It's unlikely the camera will go back to them."

But he was proven wrong yet again as the camera went straight back to Romano and England, who were now turned away from each other, each scowling with folded arms.

"Kesesese! Five Euros, my friend!" Prussia held out a hand and Denmark smacked another fiver into it.

…

Romano continued to be surly throughout the entire rest of the match. As England attentively watched the gameplay, he noticed the Italian players seemed to be restless and unable to focus, working very hard on defending, but not making progress towards a goal of their own. Spain scored two more goals, and although the Italian team worked very hard, it just wasn't happening for them tonight.

"All right, bastard," Romano snarled after the third Spain goal. "I can't blame you."

"Damn straight," England replied unwisely.

"Shut up."

They went back to their former impasse, glaring at the players, resolutely avoiding each other's gaze.

…

In the last few minutes Spain scored yet again. "Dammit."

"Eh."

The match ended without any further communications between the two of them. Spanish fans in the stadium erupted with joy, and the Italian players, exhausted, nodded neutrally at the winning team before departing the field.

"Come on," Romano said, standing up. England followed, wondering just what his friend had in mind.

Down on the field Spain was standing in a circle of his team members, being hugged; France was waiting off to the side, grinning triumphantly at England and Romano as they approached. "Oi! Tomato bastard!" Romano yelled.

Spain broke out of the circle of players and scampered over towards the others; France joined them. "Lovi, this was a good match. A _great_ match!" France hugged him and whispered something in his ear, but Spain, perhaps wondering what Romano would say, pushed his old friend away. The Italian then stepped forward and cupped Spain's face in his hands, staring intently into the green eyes, and then drew the older nation down, planting a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Lovi~! You – _ow!_ " he yelled, as Romano kicked him in the groin.

"Next year, fucker," Romano spat, turning away. He slid a hand intimately into England's back pocket, and the smirking island nation, after flicking France the V, slipped his hand into the back of Romano's waistband. Spain and France stared after them in disbelief (Spain still in a half-crouch of pain) as the two of them sauntered cockily off the field.

When they'd rounded the curve of the stadium wall, both England and Romano burst into laughter and leaned back against the wall. "Sorry, bastard. Totally sorry."

"Eh, me too. Give us a kiss." They kissed a few times in the lee of the stadium wall. "Come on; let's get out of here before that wanker gets his balls back in gear." They joined hands and ran out of the stadium together, still laughing.


	104. Epic Poetry

**Epic Poetry.**

Denmark went walking  
In the forest one day  
When a sexy albino  
Stepped into his way.

"Wow, you're a hot one,"  
The white-haired man said.  
"If you're feeling crabby,  
I'll please you in bed!"

But Denmark _was_ crabby  
And not in the mood,  
So he said, "Only if you can  
Do it with food."

"Kesesesesese!  
With food it will be,  
Come over and eat some  
Red cabbage with me."

The Dane was now worried  
About this new friend  
But determined to see it  
Right through to the end.

They sat at a table  
Conveniently near,  
And a big-browèd waiter  
Brought cabbage and beer.

"Now eat," the albino  
Told Denmark with glee,  
"And then we'll go fool around  
Under that tree."

He pointed to where  
A big spreading oak grew,  
Right next to an elm tree  
And also a yew.

"Whatever," said Den,  
Chowing down on the grub.  
"I'd rather make love to you  
In a bathtub."

"That's awesome! Let's do it  
As soon as we're done.  
With a big, hot, strong Viking,  
That ought to be fun."

They finished their meal,  
Each wiping his lip,  
And a surly dark waiter said,  
"Bastards! No tip?"

Den fished in his pocket  
For a five-Euro note,  
Threw it onto the table,  
And said, and I quote,

"That's all I have left,  
My GDP's down,  
From betting on football  
When Spain won the crown."

 _"Chigi!"_ they heard,  
And the drop of a platter,  
They ran off before  
The brunet could get madder.

"Come on, sweet albino,  
Let's go to my home,  
Pour beer in the tub  
and make love in the foam!"

…

 _It ain't Beowulf, I know._


	105. Being Independent

_From Independence Day 2012._

 _..._

 **Being Independent.**

"Well, that was a sucky match," Romano grumbled, as England unlocked the front door to his townhouse.

"Don't worry about it. You'll kick his arse next year, just like you promised."

"Fuck."

They went inside. It was late; Romano had arranged to stay overnight before traveling home on Monday morning. "Wish you could stay all week," England muttered, leading the way into the living room.

"What? Why?" Then Romano smirked. "I mean, obviously you'd love to spend a whole week with me, bastard, but…specifically why?"

The island nation leaned against the back of his couch. "Eh. Wednesday is the blasted fourth of July."

Romano looked blank. England grimaced, shaking his head, and continued. "Bloody America declared his independence from me. Has a big celebration every year." He sighed and his chin sunk to his chest. _"Big."_

"Let me talk to my brother," the brunet suggested after a beat, coming closer and sliding his arms around the blond. "Maybe I can stay."

"You're serious?" England offered a weak smile.

"Hey, you can't have the monopoly on being supportive and caring, bastard."

"Clearly not… _git._ " But the island nation was still smiling, and he hugged Romano in return.

…

"Have to go to work tomorrow," England mumbled, as they collapsed in the big bed that night.

"That's all right. Just point me towards a grocery store. I'll get some things to cook."

The blond snuggled up close. "Mm. You'd make a great wife, you know."

Romano, despite his exhaustion, punched him, frowning. "You're a fucking idiot."

"I know. Good night." England yawned and closed his eyes. He didn't even care if Romano was mad or not. The wanker would get over it by morning.

The half-nation's face softened and he kissed his friend's forehead tenderly. "Good night, _mio angelo_."

Hah.

…

Monday and Tuesday passed uneventfully, save for delicious meals cooked by Romano. Wednesday morning dawned clear and bright. England had arranged to take the day off and awoke in time to see Romano enter the bedroom with a breakfast tray. "Breakfast in bed? Nice." He yawned and stretched, noticing an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne and a carafe of orange juice already on the nightstand. "Mimosas? You're really going all out." He reached for the bottle.

But Romano shook his head. "Not just yet, bastard. Shower first."

England tried to look seductive and must have missed it by a mile, because Romano burst out laughing. "All right," the blond finally said, getting out of bed. "Will you shower with me, though?"

"Stupid. That's kind of the point."

Once in the shower, England found himself fully awake within seconds, as Romano's greedy mouth attacked his; the kissing was fierce and arousing under the shower spray. Time passed; the brunet used his exceptional skills with hands and fingers to bring his friend pleasure that seemed much more intense today than ever before.

"Cor," England moaned afterwards, collapsing back against the tiled wall. "But – er – what about you?"

"Don't worry about me, sweetie," Romano told him with a wicked smile. "My turn later."

Looking at his aroused friend, England wondered how he could have such intense self-control. But he accepted Romano's comment and shrugged himself upright.

Once dried off, they went back to the bed. "Breakfast now? I'm starving."

"Yeah. Get in the damn bed."

Romano pulled the breakfast tray onto the big bed before mixing them each a mimosa. He then crawled onto the bed, propping himself up on his side, while England settled into a sitting position against the headboard. "What's for breakfast? Bacon and eggs?" He could see a bowl of peach slices and a bowl of fresh cherries, but there was something hidden under a plate cover.

The brunet lifted the silver cover off the breakfast platter. "Cream-filled doughnuts," he grinned.

"That's good too." Really, England was going to take anything Romano gave him today – food or otherwise. A little smirk appeared on his lips as Romano handed him a cherry. He held it between his teeth and flicked his tongue around it.

"Dammit. That tongue, bastard, you – uh…" Romano raised himself on his hands and knees, and slowly leaned forward to curl his own tongue around the cherry. For a moment they danced for mastery and then England surrendered it to his friend's warm mouth.

Romano licked it a few times himself, before chewing and swallowing. "Oh, _yes_."

They ate in silence for a short time, sipping mimosas, sharing doughnuts, cherries, and peaches. Then Romano picked up a peach slice and rubbed it on England's parted lips. "Sticky," the blond complained.

"I can help with that." Romano licked the peach juice off, carefully and tenderly. "Ah. Still delicious." He fed the fruit slice to England.

"Mm. I know. Kiss me."

Romano smiled before leaning in to kiss him, slowly and sweetly; naked under the sheet, England began to squirm a bit. "More," he breathed, but the brunet drew back with a smirk.

"Relax. We have all day." He then reached for the last doughnut, splitting it apart. Some of the cream filling dripped onto England's chest. "Want me to clean that off for you, bastard?"

"Er. Of course." The blond put the champagne glasses onto the breakfast tray and slithered down until he was lying flat on his back, and his friend bent to lick up the spill.

"I love cream filling," Romano mumbled, his warm tongue making teasing swirls on England's torso.

"I'll give you cream filling, wanker," his friend replied, arching closer.

…

Later: "Bollocks. Is this your plan for the whole day? Screw me senseless? Not that I'm complaining."

"Not at all. I have a lot of different plans." Romano yawned and ruffled the blond hair.

"But I'm exhausted. Well, at least we took care of you, this time."

"Do you want to sleep some more? Go ahead. I need to take care of some things in the kitchen anyway."

"Mm. Yes, please." They shared a kiss before England rolled over, cuddling up with Romano's pillow. The brunet pulled on his boxers and headed to the kitchen.

…

England dreamed; he dreamed of Denmark and Prussia and the drums of war. He dreamed of pain, physical pain and the pain of separation; in his dream, America became Romano and flatly stated his desire to sunder himself from the island nation.

Heart aching, tears in his eyes, he awakened to find the brunet spooning tightly behind him, stroking his hair and kissing the back of his neck. He must have cried out in his sleep. How bloody needy he always was on this date. How lame and weak Romano must think him.

But – "Don't be sad, England. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you alone." Romano continued stroking and soothing the island nation, who rolled over in his embrace.

After a few reassuring kisses, and a little more cuddling, England completely forgot about the nightmare and became more aware of his surroundings, sniffing the air. "What do I smell now, you fabulous cook?"

"Scones. Asiago cheese and sundried tomato."

"Bloody hell!" The island nation sat upright and looked around wildly. "Where? Where?"

"Calm down, desperate boy. Right here." Romano lifted a bowl of warm scones from the nightstand. "Eat."

They ate.

"Wish you _could_ be my wife," England laughed, licking crumbs off his fingers. "These are delicious. Thanks."

"You really are a complete idiot. You want to marry me for my cooking? Bastard."

"Actually, I'd rather marry you for the sex, but the cooking is a plus, too."

Romano flicked a crumb at him, which missed. "Are you feeling all right?" he then asked.

"Better than any other fourth of July that I can ever remember." England held him close. "Thank you."

"I don't mind staying and cheering you up. I – I'm happy we got together," Romano told him, and England was unsurprised to see the deep red stain on his cheeks. The brunet buried his face in the crook of his friend's shoulder. "I have so much fun with you." He held on tightly.

England was overcome with a rush of emotion. "I love you too," he blurted out, feeling himself blushing as well. Whoops.

"What? 'Too'? _'Too'?_ Did I say I l-lo-lov— did I _say_ that, bastard?" Romano drew back and punched him. "Shut the fuck up with that shit. I didn't say that at all, dammit."

"Yes, all right. Sensitive git. Let me sleep some more." England brushed scone crumbs off the bed before lying back. He shut his eyes, breathing deeply and slowly. Lying on his back, he felt Romano move away and settle in next to him. He continued the deep, regular breathing, trying to calm himself enough to sleep. Why had he said such a thing? Now Romano would be pissed off, and the day would be shot.

"I do – uh – love you, England," he heard from the pillow next to him, very, very quietly.

Although he kept his eyes shut, the blond couldn't fight a smile, and then felt Romano punch him again. "Ow! Bloody wanker." He opened his eyes.

"I hate you. Pretending to be asleep? That's a cheap tactic. _Chigi!"_ Romano flipped over with his back to his friend.

"Don't be so stroppy. If you _do_ love me – and I'm damn glad you do – then you love my cheap tactics, too, don't you?" The blond spooned behind his friend, but Romano didn't respond, except to relax slightly in his arms. England continued holding him, now kissing the dark hair, avoiding the hair curl for the moment. "Don't be angry. Please?"

He felt the brunet blow out a sigh. "I'm not angry, bastard. Let me roll over."

The island nation loosened his grip; Romano rolled over. "Let's sleep a little, loverboy." He kissed England and they smiled at each other.

"Yes, all right."

…

"Right, get out of the bed, dammit."

"What? But it's so comfortable." England, puzzled, frowned at his friend. Was all the sexy cuddly playtime over for today? Oh, well.

"Just get up, bastard, and put on something nice."

"Bollocks. You mean like a suit?"

"No, no, something like you'd wear if we – ah – if we were going out together. Just on a regular date. Jeans or whatever the hell you normally would wear. Shorts, if you want."

England shrugged and got out of bed. "At least I got a lot of good sleep," he realized. "If you're going to keep me awake all night I'm ready for it."

"Bastard, you've no fucking idea."

…

Outside, Romano took his hand. "Do you remember once we went to an outdoor concert in a park?"

"Of course I do, you demon. That was our first date. Our first time – er –"

"Yes, our first time _er._ Well, let's go to that park. I thought there might be some music tonight."

"I don't mind. It's a nice evening."

It was. The sun was out; it was warm without being overly hot. People in the streets seemed fairly upbeat, smiling at the two nations as they progressed through London.

"Hey, there is a concert!" England said, surprised, when they got to the park. "I had no idea. I wonder who's playing." He could see the stage, which was empty of people but had instruments and equipment set up. He didn't see any flyers around advertising the band names, though.

Romano led him calmly by the hand through the throng of happy music lovers, towards the stage. "Come on, bastard."

"Er – are you sure you want to sit so close?" England didn't mind, of course, but he didn't think Romano had been getting into rock music much, despite the island nation's influence.

Before his friend answered, some people came out onto the stage and yelled into the microphone. "Hey, _Arthur!_ "

England, astonished, snapped his eyes to the stage, where Prussia and Denmark stood, waving madly at him, their instruments at their sides. Then he turned to Romano, eyes still wide. "Wanker, you – you –"

Romano kissed him quickly and furtively. "Told you it would be a good day, bastard. Are you up to performing tonight?" He squeezed the blond's hand.

"Am I! After all that delicious food and" – he lowered his voice – "delicious lovemaking? I could play until dawn, I bet." He stopped walking and hugged Romano in the middle of the crowd. "Thank you so much."

"Cheh, whatever, get off me. Let's go see the bastards."

…

England hugged his friends. "Hi!"

"Are you feeling okay today, Arthur?" Prussia hugged him and then ruffled his hair. "Is Romano taking awesome care of you?"

England and Romano both started blushing and couldn't meet the albino's eyes, or Den's. "Whatever," Romano finally barked. "Are you going to play, or what?"

"What about my guitar?" England asked.

"Kesesese! It's right here! We picked it up, with your amp, this afternoon while you were napping." Prussia pointed to it; it was the one with the Italian flag.

England frowned delicately as something occurred to him. "Den, I thought you – you always celebrated America's independence today?" He felt Romano take his hand again, squeezing it.

Denmark shrugged. "Once in a while I can change things up, right? Have to support _all_ of my friends." He hugged England too, with a big smile, and the island nation relaxed. "Come on. Let's play."

"Rock on!" Prussia yelled, so they did.

…

"Are you gits staying the night?" an exhausted, happy, and well-loved England asked, as they carried the instruments up the steps to his townhouse.

"Yep. Romano made zabaglione." Prussia pronounced it right.

"Teutonic Knights brought German Monopoly," Den told him.

"Dammit." Romano kicked a pebble. "But Den brought four pounds of coffee beans," he then laughed.

"What a great day," England sighed, unlocking the door with a smile.


	106. Wank Week

_There really was a Wank Week. Check it out on Wikipedia._

…

 **Wank Week.**

"Here's the coffee, you guys." Denmark came out of his kitchen with a tray holding a coffeepot and three mugs.

"Thanks. Hey, is Arthur coming over?" Prussia elbowed Romano, who was reaching for a mug.

Romano flushed bright red but tried to act nonchalant. "Ah – uh – no. No, he's busy all week." He looked away.

"Too much nation work?" Den asked cheerfully. "I can see that."

"N-no. It's – it's – oh, it's too fucking stupid to talk about."

Prussia grinned, sipping his coffee. "What? Come on, tell us."

"It's – some stupid national thing. For the media." Romano sunk his head into his hands.

"Come on, Romano, you know you can tell us." Denmark's voice was reasonable and calm; Romano thought he might as well answer.

"It's – mumblemumble…"

"Didn't quite catch that."

"Wank Week!" Romano yelled, still red, and ground the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. "Dammit."

" _Wank_ …Week?" Prussia thought he'd misheard.

"What the hell is Wank Week?" Denmark asked.

"I don't even want to know," Romano groaned. "As soon as he said that I told him to shut up and we didn't talk about it anymore."

"Look it up on the computer, Den! I bet if it's some big thing it'd be on there. You know Arthur always puts his stuff on Wikipedia when he can."

Denmark dutifully moved to the computer across the room and checked it out. "Ha ha ha!" he yelled after about a minute.

"What is it? What?" Prussia got up off the couch and scurried over to Den's side. Romano stayed put, head still in hands.

"Well, first of all they're going to be showing a bunch of television shows that focus on masturbation." Denmark snorted a little.

"But that's not such a big deal. West has those kind of shows all the time."

"Shut up! I don't want to hear about your freaky bastard brother and his stupid sex habits, dammit!"

The others ignored this. "That's not all, though." Denmark read from the article. "There are going to be group masturbation sessions around the country to raise money for charity."

Now Prussia began laughing, too, and Romano lay down on the couch and pushed his face into the pillows. "Kesesese! I bet he's enjoying that! We should go see him."

A warning " _Bastard…_ " came from the pillows.

"Oh, calm down, Romano. I didn't mean we'd go there to take part in the masturbation sessions. Unless you really want to," the albino grinned.

"Argh!" Romano sat up and threw a pillow at Prussia. "Will – you – shut – _up_?" Fucking albino idiot.

"I think Prussia's right, though," Den said, still chuckling a little. "We could at least go see him, make sure he's all right. A whole week of that is bound to take it out of any nation, and it's been going on for four days."

"Awesome! Call him up, Romano, and tell him we're coming over."

Romano sighed in defeat and reached for the telephone.

…

Romano opened England's door with his spare key. "Don't let the perverted bastard in, if he shows up. All right? That was the only thing England really said."

Den blew out a breath. "Damn, no kidding. France would be all over this. Wonder if he's been pestering him?"

"Come on; let's put all this stuff in the kitchen." Prussia and Denmark hauled bags into the kitchen while Romano locked the front door behind them.

"Hey, I'm going to go up and see how he's doing. Just bring the shit up when it's ready. But – uh – knock before you come in!" Romano felt his face burning and turned away.

"Okie doke!" Prussia called out, already in the kitchen.

Romano ran up the stairs to England's bedroom and stopped short when he went inside. The island nation was lying in bed, pale and weak. A carafe and cup of water stood on the nightstand, next to an open package of paracetamol, and England's wrist had a brace on it. Romano almost snorted. Well, might as well make the best of it. "Hello, wanker," he said cheerfully.

England just groaned.

The brunet walked to the bed and sat on the edge, taking his friend's weakened hand. "Are you all right? We brought some things that might help you. I didn't realize things would be this bad."

Prussia and Denmark burst into the room carrying supplies. "What did you bring?" England groaned.

The albino carried a tray with about twenty little cups on it. "Vitamins and Gatorade," he grinned. "Are you hanging in there, Arthur? Wanking not too much for you?"

Romano punched the bed and scowled, but England just reached out his unbandaged hand for a cup of Gatorade. "Thanks," he moaned, trying to sit up.

"Wow, you're really wiped out, aren't you?" Denmark took a cup for himself.

"Gits. You know, there are still a lot of uptight people in the UK, who don't want to admit they masturbate."

"So that's good; they're not doing it, so you should be fine!"

"Ah, don't be so dumb, Gilbert. They're all out there fucking like rabbits to prove they don't need to wank! I'm exhausted!" He washed down a few vitamins.

Denmark raised his eyebrows at the wrist brace, but didn't say anything.

"Kesesese! Aren't you, uh, participating?"

England flopped back on the bed. "Well, at first, I thought it would be kind of fun, even without Romano around (Ow! Stop punching me!), but…after the first day I could barely lift my arm."

Even Romano had to laugh at that. "Give me your hand," he said, and England weakly lifted his arm and put his hand in his boyfriend's. "Give me the cream, albino potato."

"Cream?" England yelled in a panic, sitting upright. Everyone laughed at him.

"Not that kind of cream, Arthur. Muscle rub, to help with the pain."

"Oh. Aha. All right." He scooted back so he was sitting against the headboard.

Romano deftly removed the wrist brace and began massaging Tiger Balm into England's wrist. Denmark took a towel from around his neck and mopped the island nation's sweating brow. "You can do it," he laughed.

"What were you gits going to do before you heard about this?"

"Nothing, really," Denmark admitted. "Hang around and shoot the shit all day, probably."

"Hah. Nothing new, then." England closed his eyes.

"Be strong, Arthur. There's only two more days left! We'll stay and cheer you on for a little while!"

" _Two_ days?" England moaned. "I thought it was over on Friday. Bollocks. I'm going to die."

"It is over on Friday," Denmark, who had read the whole article, said. "Why did you think it was two more days?" he asked Prussia.

"Isn't today Wednesday?"

"Idiot," Romano growled, knocking back a little cup of Gatorade.

…

Later, after England had had a short nap, Denmark fed him orange slices and mopped his head with the towel again. "How are you doing? Looking good!"

"Den, you sound like a bloody cheerleader. Stop. Please."

But Denmark and Prussia caught each other's eye and smiled. "We need to go to the kitchen," Prussia said, nodding feverishly. "Take care of him, Romano."

"Now what?" England asked, after they'd left.

"No fucking idea. They went out and bought some secret shit while I was getting the Gatorade and vitamins."

England groaned. "I can only imagine."

"Don't worry, stupid. If it's too annoying I'll throw them out." Romano bit his lip, and England started laughing.

"I'd like to see that," he confessed, just as the other two burst into the room.

"Ta-da!" Prussia announced, shaking some red, white and blue pompoms enthusiastically. He was still wearing his t-shirt, but had changed into a little red-and-white striped, pleated skirt. A red bow was now clipped in his hair. Denmark wore his regular clothing, but sported matching pompoms and a blue bow in his hair.

"Holy fucking shit," Romano said with a dropped jaw, but the other three were all grinning.

"Nice pompoms, Gilbert."

Prussia shook the pompoms and blew England a kiss. "Give him some more Gatorade, Romano," Den directed, before he and Prussia tried to do a cheer in the confines of England's bedroom.

"Arthur is a wanker! Strong and proud! Wave your sore wrist and say it loud!" Prussia kept shaking the pompoms and began to jump up and down.

Romano lay down on the bed and covered his head with a pillow, but…he couldn't _not look_ , and quickly pulled it away. With his uninjured arm, England reached for his hand and held on tight. "Go, England, go!" Den yelled, shaking his pompoms. "Hang in there! Soon it will be over, and you – uh – won't care?" He stopped shaking as he tried to come up with a better rhyme. "Sorry, that was kind of lame."

But England was beaming. "You gits really are the best. You know that?"

"Yeah, we know it, bastard," Romano told him with a poke.

"What are you talking about, Romano? You didn't even do a cheer! I think he meant Den and me, kesesese."

The brunet scowled, but England hastily said, "All of you, all of you, all right?" He leaned over and pecked a little kiss on Romano's cheek, which diverted him from his anger at Prussia, but now made him mad at the island nation.

"Chigi! Not in front of other people!" Childishly, he scrubbed his cheek with the back of his hand.

"Aw," Prussia said, and the Fail Brothers chorused, "You know you love him."

"Dammit! Shut the fuck up!" Romano stuffed his head under the pillow again. Really, sometimes he wondered just what the hell he was doing, wasting his life on all these idiotic bastards.

Then he felt the bed shake. A lot. He removed the pillow to find both Denmark and Prussia had joined them on the bed. "Hope the bed can handle all this," England laughed. "Why aren't you wearing a skirt, Den? Gilbert looks so pretty; I bet you would too."

"Couldn't find one that fit," Prussia told them all. "I made him try on about ten skirts, but…it didn't work out." He waggled his eyebrows. Both Denmark and Romano were now blushing.

"Well, you did a great job. Give me the towel," England demanded, grabbing it and mopping his forehead.

"Are you really going to live through this? I can't stay and cheer you on all week; I have nation work I need to get back to," Denmark said.

"Yes, I'll live through it. I should have made a video of your cheer, and then I could watch it over and over after you left." The island nation snorted, and Romano punched him.

"I can stay," Prussia said with a grin. "Move over, Romano, I want to snuggle up next to Arthur."

"Forget it, bastard! I don't want him thinking about _you_ while all this wanking is going on." Romano fiercely defended his position next to England, who put an arm around him and hugged him.

"Selfish, Romano, you're a hundred percent selfish." Prussia pouted.

"I know." Romano stuck out his tongue.

"This isn't getting any work done," England said, and the other three laughed.

"You want us to leave, so you can – uh – you know?" Den asked delicately.

"Just for a few minutes?" England started to look distracted and began to fidget on the bed.

"Yes, we can leave, dammit." Romano shoved Prussia off the bed and got up himself. "Come on, bastards, leave him alone."

"You don't want to stay and awesomely help? Kesesese!"

"I really am going to kill you someday, you idiot," Romano said, as they walked out the door.

…

Ten minutes later they heard a thumping and rushed upstairs. Pale and weak, England was sitting up against the headboard with a big grin on his face. "Thanks, gits. I needed that."

Romano turned red again and scowled at the floor, but Prussia patted England on the head. "Good for you, Arthur."

"Pass me the paracetamol." After washing down some pain medication, England invited his friends to sit on the bed again, and they talked of this and that. Romano held his stronger hand calmly.

"I think I'll make it," England said with a weak smile, later, after all the Gatorade and vitamins had been consumed.

"Good for you." Denmark got off the bed and kissed his friend's forehead. "Stay strong. I've got to go."

Prussia had a fond look in his eye as he gazed at England and Romano holding hands. "I'll come with you, Den, as long as Arthur thinks he'll be all right?"

England nodded, squeezing Romano's hand. "Should be fine. Thanks so much for coming to cheer me on."

"Hey, if it's worth wanking, it's worth wanking well," Denmark laughed. "Behave yourselves. We can let ourselves out, all right? Just rest."

"Thanks, Den. Make sure you lock the door so the bloody frog doesn't sneak in. He's been phoning me all week about this."

Denmark nodded acknowledgement.

"See you bastards later."

"Call me later, Romano, because I want to talk to you about the cruise, all right? Kesesese!"

When Denmark and Prussia had left the room, Romano finally began to relax. "Wonder if the albino potato's going to wear that skirt all the way home?"

England snorted. "Bet he will. And he'll have fun with it."

"Never going to get me in a fucking skirt," Romano said, just to set the record straight.

"That's fine with me. As long as I can get you into my arms." England smiled sweetly at him, reaching for the towel to mop off his face.

"Never a problem with that, bastard." But then the brunet reconsidered. "As long as we're alone."

"We're alone now, demon." England held out his arms and Romano snuggled into them.


	107. Lazy Day

**Lazy Day.**

"Hey," Romano said, looking up.

Prussia, under the turning leaves of the oak tree, grinned down at him. "Snoozing already? What do you do all day, that makes you want to sleep all the time?"

"Nothing, all right? It's just the way I am!" He tried to kick the albino and missed.

"Kesesese. You and Arthur were made for each other. Snoozetastic."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Romano pushed himself into a sitting position. "Where the hell is Denmark?"

"Calm down, all right? He'll be here."

"Cheh. He'd better get here. I'm tired of listening to you already."

Prussia sat down and hugged him. "I missed you too. How was the end of Wank Week?"

Romano snorted and pushed him away. "Fucking stupid. All he did was lay around and bitch all day."

"Is he still in bed?"

"Beats the hell out of me. I left."

"You're either a complete wimp, or the worst boyfriend in the world." Prussia punched him in the arm and Romano reciprocated.

"Shut up."

"Wow, you two are in fine form already," Denmark said, wandering up with a cup of coffee.

"Coffee! Why did you get coffee without us?" The albino jumped to his feet and took the cup from Denmark, only to find it was empty. "Empty already? Come on, get up, Romano. Den's going to buy us some coffee."

"Hah. No way. I'm broke."

Both Romano and Prussia stared at him. "Y- _you_ are _broke_ , bastard?"

"Yes! My GDP's in a slump from betting all that money on Italy in the Euro Cup!"

"Kesesese!"

Romano was scowling. "Don't remind me." They started walking towards the coffee shop. "Uh. Who did you make bets with?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Prussia, of course! Who the hell else would I be making bets with? Sweden?" Denmark started laughing.

"So you bet on _Spain_ , you stupid potato head?" Romano kicked Prussia in the shin. "Dammit!"

"Ow! No! I absolutely did not!" Prussia danced around, trying to avoid the kicks. "Tell him, Den! Tell him!"

But Denmark seemed to be enjoying the show, and let Romano continue to kick a bit before explaining about their bets. "Prussia made a mint off me that night."

"What the hell were you bastards betting on?" Romano then wondered, as they walked on.

"Well, our first bet was whether you and Arthur would kiss on televisi—ow! Come on, Romano, stop kicking." Prussia picked him up around the waist and held him in the air, where he feebly struggled for a moment. "Are you going to settle down or what?"

"Chigi! How could you bet on such a stupid thing?"

Denmark poked him. "How could we not? On a big screen TV you guys were larger than life."

"They _televised_ us kissing?" Romano turned bright red and covered his face with his hands. "Dammit. How stupid. Look. Let's just all shut up about the match, all right? It's over."

"Fine," said Denmark.

"Fine," said Prussia.

"And put me down, albino potato!"

Prussia dutifully set Romano back down, because he had carried him all the way to the coffee shop. "Sorry."

"Cheh, yes, whatever." Then Romano fished in his pocket for something. "Here. Got you this at the match." He thrust a Kiev souvenir spoon at his friend.

Prussia took it, examined it, and peered intently at the brunet without a word. None of the three moved from their position outside the shop. Romano kept staring at his shoes, and Prussia kept staring at Romano, and Denmark, perhaps wondering what Prussia would do, stared at him with a grin.

"Well? Are we going into the fucking coffee shop or not?" Romano finally barked.

"Kesesese! Just wondering how long it would take you to look up. Thanks for the spoon. It's awesome." He winked at Romano, who blushed again and hurried inside.

After they had coffee Denmark wondered what they were going to do today.

"Let's just go lie down under the tree. I'm beat, and not in the mood for paintball or any shit like that." Romano sipped his espresso delicately.

"That's all right with me." Denmark led the way.

…

"Are you two all ready for the cruise? I have my awesome Danish suitcase packed already."

"Bastard. We don't even leave until the end of October! Are you telling me you can live without all that shit for three more months?"

"Uh, well, probably not, but I'll just take them out of the suitcase and use them! It's not really a problem."

"Except that it's fucking idiotic."

"Totally Prussia's style, though, you have to admit," Denmark laughed.

Prussia backhanded him in the chest and set his empty coffee cup aside. "So, I figured out where we need to go for vacation next year."

"Dammit."

"Just listen. You know we all went to Kirkland, for Arthur, right? Well, I was looking at a map, and there's a town in Pennsylvania called Gilbertsville! Kesesese! We have to go there. We _have_ to."

"Why? What's there, potato brain? Not that I'm planning to vacation with you next year too."

"Well, there's actually nothing there. It's just a little rural town. But there's a road called Ludwig Road so I told West I'd go take a picture of the street sign for him."

"Chigi! Are you completely out of your gourd? You want to go all the way – no, you want to _drag us_ all the way to some stupid little town just to take a picture of a street sign for your bastard brother? No."

Denmark was laughing so hard he had to set his cup down. "Seriously, Prussia, that's kind of dumb."

But the albino did not take offense at either of these statements. "That's not the best part, though."

"Uh-oh."

"There's a bigger, better town not too far away. It's got one of the most awesome malls on the east coast, and there are hotels and all kinds of things to do, not too far from Philadelphia, which is a major historical city!"

"Count England out, then," Den pointed out. "You know he still has problems with all that Revolutionary War shit."

"American War of Independence," Romano said, and the other two frowned.

"What?"

"It's called the American War of Independence."

"No it isn't! It's totally called the Revolutionary War!" Prussia poked the brunet with his foot.

"Oh," Denmark realized. "The Americans call it the Revolutionary War. The British call it the American War of Independence."

There was a brief silence as the three friends considered this. Then: "Well, he's still not going to go with us, bastard. Uh – uh – I mean, not that _I'm_ going to go, either, I'm just saying."

"Prussia, why did you choose this little town outside of Philadelphia, anyway? Just because it was near Gilbertsville?"

"Well, not entirely. It's awesomely called King of Prussia."

" _What?_ A town is called King of Prussia? That's the most asinine thing I ever heard, bastard."

"Like Italy doesn't have any stupid town names?" Denmark poked Romano. "Everybody has stupid town names."

"Cheh. King of Prussia is stupider than most."

"Shut up, Romano," Prussia said hotly, folding his arms. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know a stupid town name when I hear one!"

"Shut up, both of you fighting fucking coffee drinkers. It doesn't matter if it's a stupid town name or not, all right? What matters is whether it's worth going there on vacation or not."

"Not."

"Romano, you are really the worst. Why are we even friends with you?"

"Beats me, albino potato." Romano scowled.

For at least ten minutes all three of the dangerous fucking bastards were quiet.

"Because we're all awesome," Prussia then said with a decisive nod.

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"Fine, now that that's settled," Denmark laughed, "what about this town? You really want to go there?"

Prussia shrugged. "I have to admit that for me personally, going to visit a town called King of Prussia – which is not actually in Prussia – would be amazing. But I understand that you two probably aren't that interested. Maybe I'll get West to go with me."

"Maybe you should go with America. I mean, he'd know all the best places, and then if he wanted to brag about his American War of Independence shit, it wouldn't bother m—anyone else." Romano was bright red after that statement, and he turned his head away.

His friends both gave him very sentimental looks before meeting each other's eyes and grinning. "Good idea," Denmark said neutrally.

"Is he still with Austria, potato brain?"

"As a matter of fact, no. I just saw Austria last week and he's with Swissy again."

"Austria's a whore," Denmark said, and they all cracked up.

"No. It's like I said before. He and Swissy have too much of a history together. They're planning an awesome romantic vacation together."

"Huh. Now America's on the loose again, bastards. Who will he end up with next?"

The Skirmish Brothers tried to think of a suitable partner for America.

"Hah. Hungary," Prussia suggested with a laugh.

"Are you nuts? You know how long that would last?"

"I know, Den! I was just joking."

"Hungary doesn't take shit from anybody," Romano agreed.

"How about Belarus?" Denmark suggested.

Romano visibly shivered, but Prussia just shook his head. "She'd never do it. She thinks he's an idiot."

"Cheh. He is an idiot."

"But a fun, cute idiot, you have to admit." Denmark drummed his fingers on the ground, thinking. "You know what would be funny? To get America together with Swissy, and see what happened."

"That…would be interesting, bastard."

"Kesesese! They could have a threesome!"

Romano kicked him. "Stupid albino potato. You have such a fucking dirty mind!"

"Oh, come on, Romano, don't tell us that didn't occur to you, too. I know that's what you were thinking." Prussia pinched his cheek, and Romano smacked his hand away.

 _"Chigi!"_ He scowled. "But…yeah, I was."

The other two laughed. "Well, why don't we make that our mission? We can try to get them together at the next meeting!" Prussia lay back, self-satisfied.

"You said you didn't want to go to Japan," Denmark remembered. "That's where the next meeting is."

"Oh. Yeah. But, well, for an awesome project like this one, I'd totally go. You going, Romano?"

The brunet considered. "The only thing that worries me about this 'awesome project' is Swissy's guns! What if he finds out we're trying to manipulate him, and shoots us?"

"Swissy won't shoot me. He loves me."

"Everybody loves you, Teutonic Knights."

"Don't make me sick, bastards. But just because he wouldn't shoot _you_ doesn't mean he wouldn't shoot Denmark, or – or me."

"I'll just take my axe along," Den said cheerfully. "It's always handy at Japanese meetings. Swissy won't shoot me."

"Buh – wha – well, that's fine for you, you stupid Viking bastard, but that means Swissy's only going to have me left to shoot at!" Romano looked very panicky.

With a shared nod, Prussia and Denmark moved to embrace their terrified friend. "Don't worry," Prussia crooned, stroking his hair, "we won't let Swissy shoot you."

"Stop playing with my hair, dammit!"

Denmark squeezed him around the middle and Prussia left off playing with his hair. "If Swissy threatens you, I'll take care of him." Den grinned somewhat evilly. "In fact I might almost wish that he _did_ threaten you. It's fun to play with my axe."

"I'll say," Prussia said, waggling his eyebrows.

"Shut the fuck up!" Romano squirmed away from them and sat a few feet away. "Why is it always innuendo shit with you?" he scowled at Prussia. "I'm going to take my Kiev spoon back."

"No, no, no!" Prussia cried out, theatrically falling to the ground and clutching his heart. "Oh, Romano, please don't take the spoon, the symbol of our so-awesome friendship! I might die!"

The brunet's expression turned a little evil, too, and then he jumped on the albino. "That might be worth it," he snarled, wrestling him for the spoon. "Give me the fucking spoon back."

"No, no, no!" Prussia continued to cry out. "Don't take my awesome spoon!"

"Give me the damn spoon!"

"No!"

Denmark leaned back against the tree to watch. "Give him the spoon, Prussia. Call his bluff."

The albino immediately stopped struggling and held the spoon out to Romano. "Here."

Romano scowled again, first at Denmark, then at Prussia. "Keep the fucking spoon." He sat back and hid his face in his hands.

"Kesesese!"

…

As the sun set the three friends got up to head for home. "So it's settled? We'll go to the Japan meeting and try to shoehorn Swissy and America into a date?" Denmark grinned. "That's going to be fun."

"Yeah, I'll go, bastards. Can't let you two have all the fun without me."

Prussia thought about it. "You know I have a problem when I can't read the language. But I'll awesomely go. The prank, date, whatever, it's worth it."

"Cool. See you later."

"Don't forget your axe!" Romano yelled after him. Denmark just waved, without looking back, and Prussia scampered to catch him.


	108. Manipulation

**Manipulation.**

The cab with Veneziano and Romano pulled up outside the Japanese hotel right behind another one, which turned out to contain Germany and Prussia. "Ve!" Veneziano yelled, dropping his suitcase and running to hug Germany.

Romano just scowled, until Prussia slipped over to him. "Kesesese! Ready for our plan?"

"Yeah. I just hope Japan put you bastards in the right hotel rooms." As they turned to carry their suitcases inside, Denmark came out of the lobby, grinning madly, and gave them the thumbs-up. "Hey!" Romano yelled, with a warning frown. Den's eyes widened – as if he'd just remembered something – and he scurried back into the hotel.

"Kesesese," Prussia whispered. "This is going to be good."

"Shut up about it and let's go check in."

Japan had indeed put them in the rooms they'd requested. Prussia was in with Switzerland, and Denmark with America. "Good," Romano said absently to the concierge, trying to act calm.

Prussia wheeled his Danish suitcase along. "Come on, Romano, come up to my room with me." He raised his voice for the benefit of any listening nations. "I'm really glad I'm not rooming with Denmark this time."

Nobody seemed to be paying attention. "Don't overdo it, stupid. Just go up to your room. England and I are in 719, so come find us once you get settled. Let me know how things are going."

"All right, I awesomely will."

They rode up the elevator with Latvia, who tried to wedge himself into the corner. Romano turned to him with his teeth bared and then said, "Boo!"

"Aah!" Latvia yelled, running out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened.

"That little bastard is so funny."

"Pick on someone your own size, Romano." The elevator reached Prussia's floor and he got out. "See you in a little bit."

"Yeah. I'll wait in my room for you."

When he got to his room, England, in casual clothes, stood staring out the window. "Hey."

"Hey yourself, bastard. Recovered from the wanking yet?"

England turned and smirked at him. "I'm so recovered, I'm ready for anything. Get naked. I'm going to punish you for abandoning me."

But Romano just laughed. "Bastard, forget it. Not yet. The albino potato's on his way over in a little bit."

"Oh. Well, then, forget it, you're right. Not in the mood for a threesome with Gilbert."

"Just stop right there, idiot. Don't even put that idea in my head."

"Fine." The blond sat on the bed. "What about Denmark? He's here; I already talked to him."

The Skirmish Brothers had had a long online chat last week, debating whether or not to tell England about the plan. In the end they figured they'd better tell him, or he'd blurt out something stupid in front of everyone. So Romano told him.

"Bloody _hell._ You gits like to live on the edge, don't you?"

"It – it'll be fine. Denmark's bringing his axe to protect me."

"Yes, but if he and Gilbert are staging a fake breakup, who's going to protect Gilbert?"

"Oh, you know Swissy would never shoot the albino potato." Romano thought about this. "What about America, though? Do you think he might hurt Prussia?"

England snorted. "I'm betting he's so clueless he won't even know what you wankers are trying to do. But I don't understand something. If Switzerland and Austria are dating again, why aren't they rooming together?"

"Cheh. The albino potato got his bastard brother to pull some strings with Japan and change all the rooms around." Romano shrugged. "I guess nobody really suspects anything."

England agreed. "Half the time these meetings are so bloody fucked up that they could put Latvia in with Belarus and nobody would catch it."

Romano shuddered. "Don't even suggest that. That poor little kid."

A knock sounded, followed by "Hey! It's me, Romano, open up!"

Romano sighed and opened the door. "Well? Come in."

"Hello, Arthur."

"Gilbert."

"So, you know you two have to totally run interference between me and Den for a day or so," Prussia reminded them as he shut the door. "Since I'm supposedly broken up with him, I can't go talking to him."

"Yes, we'll be your fucking messengers, idiot." Romano nudged him. "Don't worry about it."

England started worrying his lower lip in his teeth. " _I'm_ worried about it. Am I supposed to do anything?"

"Nope. It's awesomely all right for you to be a bystander. Oh, I might ask you to take a message to Den for me once in a while, but otherwise, just be your charming self, and don't tell anybody about this. All right? Can you do that, Ethel?"

"Yes, Lucy, I can do it!" England scowled and punched him.

"Ow. You two really are made for each other."

"Shut up," Romano said, punching him.

"See? See? Didn't I just say?" Prussia grinned at his friends.

"Oh, bollocks. Come on, let's go down to the hotel bar and see what we see."

"Let me change out of this stupid uniform first." Romano flung his suitcase open and rummaged through it.

"Hurry it up, kesesese! Come on."

…

"Why don't you go sit with Den?" Romano hissed to England. "It would look less weird."

" _You_ want to sit with _Gilbert_? Well, it's your funeral. See you later." The blond sauntered over to the table full of Nordics, where Liechtenstein was also sitting.

"Hey!" Denmark, in a muscle shirt and jeans, made room for him. "Why are you hanging out with Prussia?" he demanded loudly.

But – "You brought your axe to the bar? What exactly are you planning?" Then England's eyes widened. "Is this going to be like that time in Moscow, when you chopped all the chandeliers off?" He looked around. "No chandeliers here, though."

"Hey, I remember that," Iceland said with a grin. "I got hit in the head with a flying crystal."

Liechtenstein looked quite concerned. "I don't believe I was at that meeting."

"Lucky you," the other three chorused, making the girl laugh.

"It's just for protection," Denmark told him airily.

"Protection against what? Against whom?" England really was baffled about this. Protection against Switzerland, maybe?

"Never mind," Denmark said with a wink. "Sit down and drink."

"Yeah, all right." England sat and ordered a beer.

"Why aren't you sitting with Romano?" Liechtenstein then asked politely. "I hope you two didn't break up, too." She darted a nervous glance at Denmark, who was downing a vodka martini.

"No, no, we're still together. I – ah – well, I guess he wants to – er – console Prussia for the, er –"

"Because the Teutonic fucker broke up with me!" Den shouted angrily. Heads turned, but not Prussia's, and not Romano's.

England panicked. Was Den really acting? He was acting very well, if he was. "Settle down. It – it doesn't matter!" He couldn't think of what else to say. "But, no, there are no problems with Romano and me. Yet." He turned in his chair to watch the other two, who were arguing with Switzerland and Austria. "Has anybody seen America yet?"

Denmark got a goofy grin on his face, but Iceland replied first. "Yes, he was in here a little while ago. Hurried out when Austria walked in."

England wanted to smack Den, who was still grinning like an ape, but then Liechtenstein sighed. "My poor _Bruder_ is so conflicted about America."

England froze, and he could feel Denmark's attention shift as well. "Conflicted how? Switzerland? What?" That sounded neutral enough. He knew that all three of his friends would be angry if he let on about this prank, so he had to be very careful.

"He feels guilty for breaking up Austria and America."

Denmark was practically exploding with glee. England tried to kick him under the table. When this didn't work, he elbowed him and said, "Hey, Den, come outside for a walk with me. I need to talk to you." If he didn't, Den would blow their whole setup!

"Sure. Should I bring my axe?" Denmark stood up and stretched. "Yeah, what the hell, I'll bring it."

"See you later," the island nation said to the others, as he and Denmark left the room, axe in tow.

…

"Where the fuck are they going?" Romano wondered.

"It's nothing to do with me!" Prussia yelled after their retreating backs. Denmark hesitated, they could see, but then the blonds walked out of the bar, the axe narrowly missing the door frame.

Romano poked his friend. "You're overdoing it again," he hissed.

"Just trying to make a point," the albino whispered back.

In a more conversational tone, Romano demanded, "Get me another drink, stupid."

"I would like a drink as well, Prussia," Austria said, as Prussia stood up to head to the bar.

"Fine. What's everyone awesomely drinking? I'll just get a bunch."

"You're treating?" Switzerland asked. "Where are you getting money? Germany won't be happy."

"Germany is never happy," Austria sniffed.

"Never mind about the money," Prussia said, nudging Romano. "Let me out of the booth."

Romano dutifully moved. The three of them watched Prussia head to the bar, and then Romano thought he'd better say something to move their plan along. "So how's your love life?"

Switzerland blushed bright red. "Everyone is such a _gossip!_ " He put his hand down as if to pull out a gun, but reconsidered.

"Don't worry. You don't have to answer," Austria said calmly, finishing the remains of his first drink.

The three of them sat in an embarrassed silence until Prussia returned with a tray, beaming. "So, anybody gone on any hot dates lately?" he asked, handing out the drinks.

"Prussia!" At that, Switzerland did whip out a gun, and shot Prussia in the head.

Everyone at the table watched in amazement as a Nerf dart stuck to the albino's forehead, and then fell off and landed in Romano's Bloody Mary. "Dammit." He was intensely relieved, though, that Switzerland was only packing a Nerf gun and not a real one. Romano picked the dart out of the glass and set it aside, suddenly not as thirsty as he'd been. He pushed the drink aside.

But Prussia was completely unfazed. "Why are you using a Nerf gun, Swissy?"

"Don't call me _Swissy_!" He brandished the Nerf gun in Prussia's face, but settled down as he felt Austria's hand on his arm. "Austria asked me not to carry a loaded pistol at Japan's place." He scowled and holstered the toy gun.

"Well, whatever. You may not know that Denmark and I broke up, so I was just curious about everyone else's love life."

"I'm not going to date you," Switzerland said decisively, and Romano burst out laughing.

"Me neither." Austria reached for his new drink.

"Kesesese. You two are so touchy."

The noise level in the bar had risen quite a bit, and nobody at their table now seemed inclined to talk. "I'm going for a walk," Romano decided. Maybe he could find England and Denmark.

"Fine, fine. Hey, anybody see America lately?" Prussia asked.

Romano decided to stay for a few moments. This might help with their plan.

Both the others seemed exceedingly uncomfortable. "What's the matter with you two?"

"America and I broke up," Austria offered quietly.

"Don't gossip!" Switzerland elbowed him. "You know how Prussia is."

But the musical nation turned his beautiful purple eyes to his old friend. "I'm just setting the record straight. If Romano and Prussia know the full story, they can work to stop any rumors."

"Anyway, Austria awesomely told me that last month. I was just wondering how America's taking it."

Romano stilled, hoping Prussia wouldn't do anything stupid to shut the other two up.

Austria drank and continued. "He didn't seem to have a problem with the - the breakup. I – just can't seem to be content with him."

Prussia nodded. "He's very different from you, Austria, my friend. Loud and fun."

"Why didn't you ever date him?" Swissy wondered. "You're loud, too."

Romano snorted his drink. "Chigi! Do you have any idea how insane they would be?"

"I am not interested in America." Prussia drank. "I've been going out with Denmark for over two years!"

Romano kicked him under the table. "Yet you two _broke up_ ," he said, in a warning tone. Stupid albino potato! He'd ruin the whole plan.

"Oh! Oh, yeah, well, he's – uh – well, whatever." Prussia sank his head into his hands for a moment.

"Whatever, bastards. I'm going for that walk!" Romano pushed the albino aside and crawled over him, hurrying out of the bar. Whew. He was no good at this spy shit. Maybe he should get England to go back in there and worm some information out of Austria.

Several steps later he felt an arm around him. "Hey," Prussia said.

"Hey what? You fucking idiot. You're not doing a very good job." He pushed Prussia away.

"It's difficult! Wow, this is hard. I think we should do the fake making-up scene tomorrow, just so I don't have to keep pretending to be pissed at Denmark."

"Did someone just say my name?" they heard behind them.

Turning, the two of them faced the blade of the axe. "Put the fucking axe away, stupid; it's just us."

"I can see who it is!" Denmark was scowling; England, next to him, rolled his eyes.

"Den, knock it off. Nobody's looking."

"Oh. Well, all right." He stood the axe up next to him and grinned. "How's it going?"

"Uh," Prussia said, fidgeting. "Come over here and talk to me a minute, Den."

"Sure." He handed the axe to England. "Hold this."

The two of them ducked into a little alleyway.

"How do I look?" England asked Romano, posing with the axe.

"Badass. If I didn't know what a cuddly little bastard you are, I'd be really scared."

England narrowed his eyes, but before he could say anything, a policeman accosted him. "Sir! Weapons are not permitted on the street!"

"Huh? Oh, this?" England tried to bluff. "It's – ah, it's a cultural artifact. I don't use it as a weapon. It's ceremonial."

"Regardless! You must take it inside your dwelling."

Romano scooted over to the alleyway, where Denmark and Prussia were making out. He didn't even care! "Psst! Bastards, a cop's after England for carrying the axe around!"

"Whoops. Have to take a rain check, Teutonic Knights." Den patted the white hair. "Come on. Let's go rescue our friend."

When they came back out the policeman was trying to grab the axe. "It's a cultural artifact!" England kept yelling, dancing around, trying to keep it out of the man's reach.

Denmark walked right up to him and plucked the weapon out of his grip. "Thanks for taking care of my axe," he said cheerfully, peering down at the shorter policeman. With the axe in hand he was quite menacing, much more so than England had been. Romano was very glad Denmark was his friend now.

The policeman looked up – and up – first at the biceps Denmark was flexing absently, then at his smirking face, and then up further to the head of the axe towering above him. "Please keep your cultural artifacts under control!" he squealed, running away.

"Kesesese! That was a good one."

England had gone white, so Romano hugged him briefly. "Bastards, we shouldn't stand around here in a group like this. Nobody will believe the breakup story."

"Right. Come over to the alley again," Denmark suggested. "I can hide the _cultural artifact_ while we talk." He nudged England with the handle. "Good one."

After they'd squeezed into the alley, Romano asked, "So what's the next step? The albino potato misses you." He smirked, but it was mostly lost in the darkness. He felt England take his hand and squeezed it.

"Well, Liechtenstein says that Swissy feels guilty about breaking up America and Austria."

"Oh. That's awesome. That ought to help us a lot."

"I think tomorrow, at the meeting, you bastards should do the sad and fake-flirty shit with each other, instead of waiting until Wednesday. Then at lunchtime, or in the afternoon, you can get back together, and then ask the other two about changing hotel rooms."

"I can deal with that," Prussia said. "I'd hate to have to spend another whole day being broken up with you, Den."

Crickets chirped as the other three failed to respond.

"Just one thing," Denmark realized. "If I've got to be flirting with Prussia, I won't be able to pay much attention to the meeting. Will you take notes for me, England?"

"Sure. I'd rather not be too attentive to your mischief anyway. Maybe I won't even sit with Romano. If I sit at the front of the room I can concentrate better."

"Fine with me, bastard."

"Right, well, we should be getting back. Come on, Gilbert, walk with me, and let Romano go with Den. I have some stuff I want to talk to you about. See you in a bit." England squeezed Romano's hand one more time.

"Kesesese! All right. I'll spend the night singing America's praises to Swissy and awesomely start flirting with you at the meeting tomorrow, Den." He pecked a kiss on Denmark's cheek.

"Deal. See you then, loverboy." As England and Prussia left the alley, Denmark swatted Prussia on the ass.

"Ooh! Boy, I can't wait until we're back together," Romano heard, as the others moved off.

"Better wait here a little while," Denmark said. "Let them get ahead of us."

"Fine with me, bastard, as long as you're prepared to protect me." This alley was pretty dark, and Romano was not comfortable. "Or we could leave and walk the other way."

Denmark ruffled his hair. "Let's get out in the light."


	109. Persuasion

**Persuasion.**

When Denmark got back to his room, America was lying on the bed watching television. "Hey," the Viking said cheerfully.

"Aw! I'm glad you're here, Denmark. I was really getting bored." America looked at him in a funny way – or so Denmark thought – but then picked up the remote and muted the TV. "Want to play a video game or something?"

Denmark shrugged. Well, he'd need to start talking about how fabulous Swissy was, if they were going to succeed in their plan, so he might as well hang out with America for a while. "Sure. Any shooting games on there?" That would certainly help.

America checked the hotel's guide. "Black Ops?"

"Sure, that sounds good. Let me get changed." Den set the axe in the corner of the room and headed into the bathroom to wash up.

When he came back out, America was bouncing on the bed and fiddling with the controller. "I hope you don't mind; I ordered some room service. I'm kind of hungry."

"Why didn't you eat downstairs?"

America fiddled with his glasses. "Uh. You know I was dating Austria."

"Yeah?"

"We're not dating any more. He's with Switzerland again."

Now Den was stuck. Should he talk about Swissy, or commiserate with America for losing Austria? He snorted. "You'd be better off dating Swissy," he said boldly. "You two have a lot in common."

America frowned. "Just guns, right? That's not much. I have more in common with Prussia." Then his eyes widened. "Whoops. Sorry. I know you guys broke up."

Den nodded, playing along. "Yeah, don't worry about me. Anyway, having guns in common is a pretty serious thing. Though I heard he's packing a Nerf gun this week." Romano had told him about this when they'd walked back to the hotel.

"Ha ha ha! That's pretty funny! I didn't know Switzerland had an awesome sense of humor like that. He always seems so serious." America threw a controller to Denmark, who joined him on the bed.

"Swissy's a good guy," Denmark said. "Sexy, too." Ah, what the hell, he'd push and push until America started getting suspicious. No sign of that yet.

"Really? That beret he wears is kind of girly. I mean, even France doesn't wear berets anymore."

"So get him to take the beret off!" Den decided to push some more. "It'd be hard to run your fingers through his hair, if he had the hat on."

"True," America said, somewhat absently, loading the game.

Denmark was getting a little worried! He'd thought he'd have to be extra-subtle, and hadn't been too confident in his ability to do that. But from the sounds of things, he might have to threaten America with the axe just to drive home his point. Oh, well. Play now, persuade later…

…

Switzerland came into the room and removed his beret. "Prussia," he said calmly.

"Hey, Swissy! Have a pretzel." Prussia was eating pretzels because they reminded him of Denmark, and he was really sad about this fake breakup and wanted it to be over very soon. Hopefully he could push Swissy where he needed to go.

"Thanks." Switzerland took a pretzel from the bag. "Stop calling me Swissy."

"Oh, all right. How were things in the bar after I left? Anything exciting?"

"There's never anything exciting at these meetings."

"That's not true," Prussia grinned. "America, for example, brings a great deal of excitement to every meeting." He stopped to think about this. "So does Denmark, for that matter."

"Why did you and Denmark break up?" Switzerland asked this question in a polite, reasonable tone – almost an "I don't really care" tone – but Prussia panicked. They hadn't come up with a fake reason!

"Uh – irreconcilable differences?" he suggested with a shrug.

"Oh. You mean he couldn't stand you anymore." Switzerland finally removed the holster with the Nerf gun, his boots, and his uniform jacket. "Those pretzels are good. Give me another one." He joined Prussia on the bed, and the albino began madly trying to work America into the conversation again.

"I had good pretzels in America last time I was visiting," he said. "In Los Angeles."

"They have a lot of stuff in Los Angeles, don't they," Switzerland said noncommittally.

"Yeah! We had a great vacation." He slipped into a little replay.

"The water park was fun," Switzerland conceded. "I don't get to do that sort of thing very often but Liechtenstein wanted to go." He reached for another pretzel.

"She's a grown girl! You could let her go by herself if you didn't want to go. Or, you know, Iceland is being good to her; he'd totally look out for her."

"Eh."

The two of them sat on the bed in silence for a little while. Prussia's brain was whirling. How on earth was he going to get Switzerland interested in America? "America and Denmark are rooming together," he said, desperate for some conversation to move the plot along.

"Huh. Sounds like you really miss Denmark."

What? No, that wasn't what Prussia had been going for at all! But he couldn't just change the subject. "Ah, well, Den is a lot of fun, Swissy, a lot of fun, but I bet America is even more fun."

"Don't call me Swissy!" The blond took the last pretzel. "I'm going to brush my teeth and go to bed. We do have a meeting tomorrow, you know."

Prussia sighed and made one last desperate effort. "I'm going to try to sit next to America. He really is awesome."

"Good night, Prussia." Switzerland went into the bathroom.

Dismayed, Prussia set the empty pretzel bag aside and got under the covers of his bed. He hoped his friends would never find out how badly he'd done tonight, and he hoped Den was making better progress persuading America.

He spent some time thinking about Romano and Arthur, too, because they were lucky enough to be rooming together. "Damn it," he muttered, just as Switzerland came out of the bathroom and turned off the light.

"Damn it what?"

"Uh. Nothing. Just – just wishing I could have roomed with America this time." Damn it, he sounded so stupid. Swissy was bound to get suspicious.

But apparently not. "Good night, Prussia. You'll be over it by morning." Switzerland slipped into the other bed and turned his back to the albino.

"Good night."

…

"Come on, bastard, kiss me. Hold me. Something!"

"I can't. My arms hurt from swishing that bloody axe around."

"Poor baby. I bet I can persuade you otherwise."

"You always were a persuasive git. Get to work."


	110. Confusion

**Confusion.**

"Wake up, Prussia, if you're going to the meeting." Switzerland, already fully-dressed, slipped the Nerf gun into its holster with a sigh.

"I'm awake, Swi—tzerland. Just resting." Prussia leaped out of the bed, scrubbing his hands through his white hair, and headed into the bathroom. "Gonna sit with America today?" he asked.

Switzerland did not answer.

By the time Prussia came out of the bathroom, Swissy was gone. Oh, well. He'd done his best. Now he could end the fake breakup. "Kesesese!"

…

When he got to the meeting room, Prussia scanned the seats. Where were all the other key players? Well, Arthur, as promised, was right up at the head of the table, with his back to everyone else. Hah. At least they wouldn't have to worry about him doing anything to disrupt the plans.

Swissy sat opposite Denmark. Damn. Prussia had hoped to snag that seat himself. But he could sit next to Swissy; that would work. He'd be in Den's line of sight, at least.

Denmark and Romano were sitting together, about midway down the table on the far side. The axe rested against the wall behind them. America was on the other side of Denmark. Prussia snorted; probably America was only sitting there so he could get a good look at Swissy. If Den had done his homework.

Austria he found all the way in the very back of the room, next to Hungary. Prussia felt a momentary pang at possibly hurting his old friend this way – because if they got Swissy and America together, Austria would be out in the cold – but then he thought about their plan and laughed. Austria would get over it.

But why wasn't Switzerland sitting with Austria? That was weird, if they were dating.

Germany pushed him from behind. "Prussia, please move it along. Other people are trying to get settled."

"Yes, yes, West, I hear you." He hurried to the Japanese breakfast buffet and got a cup of coffee and some strange foods he didn't recognize before scurrying back to the table. He hoped they'd taste good.

Oh, good. The seat next to Swissy was still empty; it was directly opposite Romano. Good. He'd sit there, and awesomely flirt with Den right from the start.

Switzerland turned his attention to the coffee cup before him. Prussia poked him in the beret just to get a reaction. If he could get Swissy to keep looking across the table, he'd practically be staring at America all day! This was going to be so easy. "Kesesese!"

"Do you have to sit next to me here?" Switzerland grumbled. "It's bad enough I have to room with you."

"Oh, Swissy," the albino groaned, in the most dire voice he could manage, "I'm dying of a broken heart…don't deny me this simple pleasure."

"Do I have to shoot you?"

Prussia then laughed. "Go ahead, Switzerland, shoot me with your awesome Nerf gun and put me out of my misery." He spread his arms wide, providing a target for the dart, and groaned theatrically. Romano snorted at this, but Switzerland simply bopped him on the shoulder with the Nerf gun.

"Ow! Not awesome. Stop it."

"Don't talk to me," the Alpine nation said.

"Fine." He needed to get down to business with Den, anyway.

France and Spain then entered the room, scanned the place much as Prussia had done, and then began to head for the buffet. And then Spain stopped short. Prussia watched him flick his eyes to Arthur, all alone at the head of the table, and back to Romano…and then Prussia saw a grin he knew very well appear on Spain's face. Uh-oh. He knew that grin, and it didn't bode well for Romano. Or Arthur.

But Prussia couldn't bother warning them. He had to work on Denmark. He glanced across the table and caught Den smiling pleasantly at hi—not at him? At Swissy! "Damn it!" he yelled, punching the table.

"What's the matter with you?" Romano asked.

"What's the matter with _you_?" America asked Romano, leaning across Denmark. "You and Iggy have a fight? You're even surlier than usual."

"Shut up." Romano scowled and turned away, watching Arthur's back.

Prussia decided to ignore Romano for now and focus on Denmark. Keeping his arm on the table, he gave a little finger-wave to him. Poland, further down the table, saw this and gave Prussia a little finger-wave back; the albino smiled and blew him a kiss. Always fun to fake-flirt with Poland! Poland reddened and tittered a bit, clinging to Lithuania, and Prussia turned back to Den.

Denmark cocked an eyebrow and shifted in his chair so that he was turned more towards America. Prussia watched him lean down and whisper something to the heroic nation; America's eyes first went to Swissy, and then to Prussia, who beamed at him artificially.

"I need another cup of coffee," Switzerland decided. Den checked his coffee cup, too. "Would you like another cup, Denmark?"

"Sure, thanks." He pushed the cup towards Switzerland.

Good, now with Swissy out of the way, Prussia could flirt some more. He stretched his foot across the table and began rubbing it up and down on Den's leg. Except –

"Knock it the fuck off, you stupid potato brain!" Romano punched the table. Oops.

Before Prussia could answer, Spain came bouncing up and plopped into the empty chair next to the Italian. " _Hola, mi tomatito._ "

"Don't call me that, fucker. Don't sit here. Go away."

But Spain reached out a hand to ruffle Romano's hair. "But Lovi~! You're not sitting with that _desagradable pirata!_ "

"Never mind about that! Get your hand off my hair, dammit."

Spain obligingly removed his hand and smiled at Prussia.

Prussia felt a little worried. Had Romano and Arthur actually had a fight? That would suck. He checked Arthur again. He was still facing front, drinking his tea, and ignoring everything. Damn. Well, he'd ask Romano at lunchtime.

Idly he blew Denmark a kiss, but Den ignored it. Hah! Was he going to play hard to get? Prussia would simply have to work out a different strategy. After all, he was the best strategist in Europe. Right, enough of all this depression. "Denmark," he said pleadingly, his crimson eyes sparkling with mischief.

He ignored Romano's snort of derision and focused on Den, who let his mouth quirk into a tiny grin, and then turned away a little. Ah, that was better. But then Switzerland came back with the coffees, handing one to Denmark with a small smile, and Den was distracted by this. Ah, no problem. They'd have fun with it. Prussia decided to completely abandon the America-Swissy plan and just focus on Denmark _all day._

Japan walked to the front of the large conference room to begin the meeting, and Prussia reluctantly had to stop goofing off and focus a little. Just a little. He didn't want West bitching at him in front of everyone for disrupting another meeting!

…

The meeting was surprisingly interesting this time. Denmark found it difficult to pay attention to Prussia's goofy flirting, because the meeting was on track and progressing well. Periodically America leaned over and murmured something to him, and he always replied pleasantly, and then gifted Prussia with a little smile. Hah. Half the time the albino wasn't even looking! He was trying to pay attention to the meeting, too (perhaps to impress Germany?) and feverishly taking notes.

Switzerland, Den noticed, kept alternating his gaze between Japan at the head of the table and – could he really be shyly gazing at America? Man, the Skirmish Brothers were awesome strategists, Denmark realized, nodding silently. It had only taken one day! Not _even_ one day. The next time he caught Switzerland's eye he smiled at him, happy with the apparent success of their mission, and received another small smile from the Alpine nation. Yeah. He'd have to congratulate Prussia later on the good work he must have done. The Fighting Fucking Strategic Boozing Bastards. He laughed a little, and saw Swissy give him another little smile.

Romano, though, was not having such a good time of it. Flanked on the other side by Spain, he kept trying to edge his chair back, but Denmark was in the way. Luckily for the half-nation, Spain had to at least pretend to pay attention to the meeting, so he was facing front most of the time. But when he wasn't, his hands were reaching for Romano, touching his hair, his shoulder, his hands…Romano kept smacking Spain's hand away without saying anything; apparently he didn't want to disrupt the meeting. Spain didn't get the message, though, or if he did, he didn't give a damn.

Denmark thought maybe later the axe would have to come into play. He didn't like it when his friends were distressed.

Japan called for a midmorning break. Everyone (except Romano and the fiercely-concentrating Prussia) was upbeat and happy to take a break. They were actually ahead of schedule!

Den stood up and stretched. He wasn't wearing his long coat today, just regular fatigues. Oh, well. If ya got it, flaunt it, he thought, flexing his biceps, and laughed, catching Switzerland's eye.

The Alpine nation blushed and hurriedly went to the buffet table for more coffee. Right behind America! Their plan was perfectly-conceived and he knew America and Swissy would be going on a date tonight. Yeah.

Oh. Denmark thought maybe he ought to do something to help out Romano. Spain was fully turned in his chair, smiling and trying to hug the Italian, who was hissing curses under his breath.

"Excuse me," Den said politely, looming over Romano, wrapping his arms around him in a hug, giving Spain his best sharklike grin. "Back off." Spain's eyes widened and he hurried to the buffet without a word.

"Thanks, bastard. I don't know why tomatoes-for-brains can't take no for an answer!"

"Don't worry about it." Den stood up and rested a hand on Romano's shoulder. "If he tries it again, I'll get the axe out."

"You really are a good friend," Romano said with a little smirk. "Thanks."

"No problem. Want some coffee?"

"I'll get your coffee, Denmark!" Prussia leaped out of his chair and elbowed his way through the other nations to the buffet table, where he pushed Russia away from the coffeepot and poured a cup for Denmark. He managed to bring it back to the spiky-haired nation without spilling much, beaming so brightly that even Romano laughed.

"Thanks, Prussia." Den smiled at him sweetly. Yeah. Anybody listening would know there were no serious problems between the two of them. He'd be happy to end this stupid fake breakup. "Let's get together soon," he whispered, and Prussia actually jumped up and down. England, passing by on his way to the buffet, smiled at all of them generically, but did not comment.

When Switzerland came back he set down two coffee cups and poked the squirming albino with the Nerf gun. "Sit down, you capering monkey."

At this, Romano laughed out loud. "The Albino Monkey!"

"Romano, that's not cool at all. Besides, I told you, now that we have the hats in the works, we don't need the motto or name. So drop it."

"Whatever you say, Teutonic Monkey."

"Romano!"

Switzerland now slid one of the cups across the table to Denmark. "I, uh, here, Denmark, I brought you another cup of coffee. Since I was already up there."

"Thanks." Having stretched himself enough, Denmark sat back down, boots on the table, and drank first the Prussia coffee and then the Switzerland coffee.

England passed by again, winking at Den on the way back to his seat.

Just before Japan called the meeting back to order, America slipped into his seat with a plate full of snacks. "If you want any, feel free," he whispered to Denmark, who nodded and took something off the plate.

Spain scurried back and eyed Denmark warily before sitting and turning his back to Romano.

The second half of the morning meeting began.

…

Romano had thought it was a good idea for England to sit up at the front of the room. He'd continued to think this was sound strategy, right up until fucking _Spain_ sat next to him. Dammit, even the potato bastard would be better than Spain! And no matter how hard he'd tried all morning, whispering inventive Italian curses that he knew the bastard understood, or kicking him, smacking him, whatever (and trying to keep it all low-key so he wouldn't disrupt the meeting), the tomato-brained loser simply wouldn't lay off. Romano growled again…very quietly…and tried to focus on the meeting.

He didn't even care about the America-Swissy Plan, at this point. He just wanted it to be lunchtime; he'd ask England to come sit next to him, and screw the meeting notes, and the idiotic manipulative plan, and as far as he cared, Denmark and Prussia could just get fucked.

Spain must have gotten the message when Den had threatened him, though. He wasn't bothering Romano _at all_. Good. Stupid bastard.

Since he didn't have to fight him off anymore, he took a minute to check on the Plan. Hah. Denmark and America were cozily sharing snacks from a plate, but Prussia (who was looking either at Den, or the snacks, with longing) was too far away to reach them. Idiot. Why hadn't he gotten his own snacks?

Swissy, though…Switzerland had a kind of creepy smile on his face, gazing across the table. Towards America? Fuck yeah! Romano almost did a fist pump before realizing how stupid that would look. But, yeah! Looked like the plan was on track. He smiled at Prussia, who rubbed his stupid foot on Romano's leg again (Romano flipped him the bird, and Prussia laughed), and then he tried to give Denmark a smile of encouragement.

But Denmark was grinning inanely at Prussia, across the table, and didn't see. Well, whatever.

One thing Romano now noticed. He'd never paid much attention to the Nordics before, except of course Denmark, and a little bit of Iceland now that that nation was dating Liechtenstein. But that guy over there – that was Norway. Norway used to date Denmark, he knew. And Norway was staring at Den with a very calculating expression on his face.

Oh.

If everybody thought Denmark and Prussia had broken up, then maybe Norway wanted to get back with Den.

He took his note pad and scribbled this down, shoving the note pad across to Prussia, who took it and immediately stared at Norway in shock.

Romano covered his face in embarrassment, but then peeked through his fingers; Norway was still staring at Den and hadn't seemed to notice. And Denmark had started whispering to America again. Then Romano felt Spain pinch his ass. "Dammit!" he yelled, interrupting the meeting.

"Is there a problem, Romano-san?" Japan asked politely.

Romano scowled at Spain, then at stupid England, who hadn't even turned around! "N-no," he managed. "I'm sorry. Please continue."

When Japan began his speech again, Romano leaned over and hissed, "Get your fucking hands off me!"

"But Lovi~!" Spain whispered back.

Prussia leaned over. "Spain, leave him alone," he whispered in his turn. "Just because they had a fight –"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Romano's voice was low. "What fight?" Then he thought maybe he and England were supposed to be fake fighting? But he couldn't remember anything about that, and while he was thinking, Spain hugged him. "Knock it off!" he yelled again.

Ten seconds of frozen silence, broken only by a barely-suppressed "kesesese," and then Japan delicately inquired, "Romano-san?"

And fucking England still hadn't turned around! Boy, that bastard was going to pay for this. If they weren't fighting now, they would be later. "Hah."

Oh. Everyone was waiting to get the meeting back on track. "Sorry. Carry on." He flapped a hand at Japan, who refrained from speaking for ten seconds, and then the meeting continued.

Denmark reached around Romano and flicked Spain on the ear. "Ow! _Dinamarca!_ "

Everyone ignored Spain's interruption; Japan simply spoke louder to cover it. The tomato bastard scooted his chair away a little, after that. Even better. Now Romano could focus on the Plan, just to see what was going on. He laughed a little, under his breath, as did Denmark.

Swissy had a look on his face that shocked Romano: he was appraising Den.

The Italian shivered and glanced back at Spain, who was still holding his sore ear. Hah. Well, Swissy _should_ be scared of Denmark. Everyone should! Except him and the albino potato, of course. (And stupid "I'm ignoring everything" England, dammit.) Den was a fucking gigantic Viking bastard!

Romano leaned forward to peek past Den and see how America was doing. Then he rubbed his eyes. Hm. He must be having some depth perception problems, because America seemed way too close to Denmark. If he were any closer he'd be on Den's lap! Romano rubbed his eyes again and squinted. Maybe he needed glasses.

Prussia scribbled something on the note pad and shot it back across the table. "Tell Den I miss him," it said. Romano rolled his eyes. What a potato brain. Underneath it he wrote, "The Teutonic Monkey misses you," and shoved it under Denmark's nose.

Den started laughing and then covered his mouth. "Sorry," he offered to Japan, before that nation could say anything.

"It is not a problem, Denmark-san."

The meeting went on. Romano took a deep breath. If fucking Spain would only leave him alone until lunchtime, everything would be fine.

…

England was not happy.

He couldn't decide if he hated being on the outskirts of this bloody plan, or if he preferred it, so none of it would backfire on him. All morning he'd been hearing the whispers, little quiet "keseseses" (which were always loud no matter how manfully Gilbert tried to squelch them), and sometimes even the sounds of a scuffle. He really wondered what was going on, and several times had been tempted to turn around.

Ultimately, he hadn't, because (a), he didn't want the other wankers getting irritated with him for messing with The Plan, and (b), he really did need to focus on the meeting. Japan seemed pleasant, and quite happy to have an attentive audience. Even if it was only an attentive audience of one.

England couldn't help being intensely curious about the whispers, though, and especially the smacks. Or maybe that was the sound of a Nerf dart hitting flesh? He _really wanted to know!_

But he would curb his curiosity, at least until lunchtime, when he could sit with Romano (no matter what the other gits were doing, or pretending to be doing), and find out what he'd missed.

And then Romano yelled "Dammit!"

England jumped in his chair and almost turned around, but forced himself not to. Japan got the meeting back on track, and everything was going smoothly (or so it seemed), and then Romano yelled, "Knock it off, bastard!"

Oh, he wondered just who the hell was pissing Romano off now. Probably Gilbert. He snorted and made a little doodle of an Iron Cross on his note pad.

Japan was patient and began to speak, and then everyone heard Spain yell, "Ow! _Dinamarca!_ "

Aha. So, Spain was bothering Romano, and Denmark was bothering Spain. Sounded like it was all sorted. If Spain had the brains God gave a gnat he'd realize Denmark was not a nation to fuck around with. But then, Spain was not noted for his brain power.

England wondered whether Denmark had brought his axe today.

The meeting flowed placidly on for a while. The island nation was beginning to get hungry. As he doodled a mochi with a surly face on his notepad, adding a hair curl, the meeting suddenly ground to a halt again. Japan stopped in midsentence.

England heard a flurry of whispered cursing – Romano, he'd bet – followed by some smacks and grunts and the squeak of chair casters. He hoped Denmark would sort things –

" _Bastard!_ Will you get off that fucking lily white ass of yours and help me out here?"

Wide-eyed, the island nation finally turned around in his chair, to see Spain with his arms around Romano, the half-nation trying to push him away. Before England could say or do anything, Denmark slipped one powerful hand around Spain's throat. "Let go of him, Spain," Denmark said pleasantly. "Do you want me to use my axe?" He nodded towards it.

But before Spain could respond – other than to let go of Romano – England had shoved his way back to that section of table and grabbed Spain by the hair. "Let go, Den." Denmark let go and put his hands on his hips, looming over them.

England looked around at his audience. Almost everyone else in the room sat watching this little scene with interest, except Romano, who was scowling down at the table, and America, Switzerland and Norway, who were all looking at Denmark. Well, he didn't have leisure to think about those wankers.

He took a deep breath, speaking rationally, almost pleasantly, still holding Spain by his hair. "Now, listen, you bloody bastard, we can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way."

Spain tried to manage a cheeky grin, but failed. "What's the easy way, _amigo_?"

"I'm not your _amigo,_ " England replied, still in that silky, deadly-calm voice. "The easy way is that I beat the daylights out of you and then fling you out of the window." He gestured towards the window with his head and tugged on Spain's hair a little so he could see the window too.

"We're only on the first floor, _Espagne,_ " France trilled from the side of the room. "It won't hurt that much."

"You're next, frog face."

"What's the – the hard way?" Amazingly, Spain was still trying to act defiant.

"Well, the hard way is that I take you up to the top floor, beat the daylights out of you, and throw you out of _that_ window." England grinned. He heard the intake of breath from several shocked nations, probably those who'd never understood the enmity between them. "Or you could just leap out of the window and save me the trouble." England accompanied this threat with a significant tug on Spain's short hair.

"Ow. _Inglaterra,_ you're a _bastardo_."

"I know." Tug. "I'm a _bastardo,_ " he mocked in a singsong tone, "who happens to be dating Romano. Who is – not – interested – in – you!" He punctuated each word with another tug on the brown hair and then pushed Spain's head away so that it hit the wall. "Understood?"

"Understood," Spain groaned, getting weakly out of the chair and tottering over to sit with France.

"I'll be sitting here for the rest of the meeting," England told Japan with artificial politeness, as though nothing had happened. He returned to his seat to get his note pad and pen. "I hope this does not cause a problem."

"It is immaterial where you sit, England-san. But it is time for lunch break."

Everyone in the room let out a sigh. England set his note pad and pen next to Romano's. "Would you like to go to lunch, Romano?" he asked, in his most polite tone.

Romano had apparently recovered. "Thank you, bastard. I'd be delighted."

Not waiting to see what happened with the Swissy plan, the two of them joined hands and left the rest of the nations behind.


	111. Relaxation

**Relaxation.**

When Prussia entered the hotel restaurant he spotted Romano and England bickering in low tones at a corner booth. Romano was leaning across the table, scowling fiercely and arguing, while England leaned back against the booth and narrowed his eyes without saying much. The albino hurried over to join them, sliding in next to Romano.

"Kesesese! Hi, awesome ones. You were badass, as usual," he told England, reaching over to ruffle his hair, "and I don't know why Spain can't get that through his brain."

"Because he's a fucking idiot?" Romano snorted. "Where's Den?"

"Oh, he's coming along. We're going to keep going with the fake breakup. He's afraid if we try to get back together now, Swissy and America will make trouble about switching rooms. If we leave it until the end of the day, they won't have any choice."

"Good point," Romano said.

A waiter came; Prussia and Romano both panicked. "Don't worry, gits." England placed an order for all three of them in excellent Japanese, and the waiter bowed and moved to the kitchen.

"Bastard. Do you know every fucking language in the entire world?"

England shrugged. "I've had to do business with almost every nation over the years, and unlike bloody America, I don't expect that everyone in the world wants to learn English just to communicate with me. It's common courtesy."

"It's common _awesomeness_. Uncommon awesomeness. I'm so lost here in Japan. Russia, too. Wherever I can't read the writing."

"Don't worry about it; I got a bunch of different things. I'll explain them to you when they get here."

"Cool."

The three sat, musing, as other nations began to filter into the room. "You're bloody brave, Gilbert."

"What? Why?"

"Didn't you see how everyone was drooling over Denmark?"

"If you're talking about Norway, forget it. I'm not worried about Norway." Prussia drank some of his Japanese beer. "Hey, this beer is really good!"

"Japan must have learned about beer making from Germany."

"Dammit."

"Anyway, I didn't think you'd be too concerned about Norway. It's the other gits that worry me."

Both Romano and Prussia stared at the blond. "Bastard, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"You can't be that oblivious. You just can't." But before England could continue, Denmark slouched into the restaurant.

With America...and Swissy...and Norway.

"Whaaaaaaaaaaa?" Prussia yelled, before Romano clamped a hand over his mouth. The albino shook off his grip. "Is that what you're talking about?"

"Yep. You really didn't notice?" England sipped tea delicately.

Romano shook his head. "I – I saw Norway staring at him, but – but I thought Swissy was flirting with the burger bastard! He was right across the table from him!"

"He was right across the table from Denmark, too, wanker."

Prussia let out a huge whoosh of breath. "I saw America cozying up to Den, but I thought they were talking about Swissy!"

England laughed at his two friends, waggling his eyebrows. "You remember he roomed with America last night, right? Wonder if anything _happened_?"

Romano gave him a shocked but appreciative grin. "Wow. You really are a bastard."

"But you knew that."

Prussia was still staring at Den and his gang, now seated at a large round table almost directly opposite them. "Uh."

"Not worried, are you, Teutonic Potato?"

"Uh."

Romano and England both laughed, and the brunet poked him. "Come on, forget about it. Denmark can deal with it."

Prussia reluctantly turned his head back to the table just as the waiter came with their lunch. "Damn. This is not what I had in mind at all." He put some things on a plate and began to eat, not really paying attention, but darting little peeks towards the Other Table.

"You're not seriously worried, are you, Gilbert? Is your relationship with Den that tenuous?"

"Of course not!" he yelled, slamming a fist onto the table. "Of course not. Denmark is awesomely toying with all of them, so that when he gets back together with me, they can all console each other." He nodded. "Kesesese! You know it's true, right?"

"Except…what about Norway? I don't know much about him," Romano confessed.

"No need to worry about him. Den had plenty of chances to be with him, and…he's with me, so, Norway is not an issue. Eat your awesome lunch."

Shrugging, the others ate their awesome lunch.

…

Denmark sat at the table. Well, since he was stuck with Swissy and America, he'd do his best to further the plan. Except just what was Norway doing with them? Norge wasn't really friendly with Switzerland _or_ America, at least as far as Denmark was aware. Maybe things had changed and he just hadn't noticed.

As the lunch began, though, he began to think that Norway had some kind of weird ulterior motive. Swissy and America chatted pleasantly with each other and with Den himself, but Norway was just sitting there, staring at his food, or staring at Den. Now, Den was aware – almost everyone was aware – that Norge wasn't a blabbermouth. (Not like Prussia. Denmark snorted.) But this was rather bizarre.

"So, how long have you and Prussia been apart now?" Norway asked, point-blank, during a conversational lull.

"Uh." Uh was right! Denmark now understood just what the hell Norge was up to. But he couldn't tell the truth and get rid of him, or he'd blow The Plan to smithereens. Shit. "Uh, just a few days?" Den took a deep breath and hoped he could wing it through the rest of this meal. _Say something, say anything_ , he mentally begged Swissy and America.

Nobody said anything.

Thankfully, that included Norway, who bent to his plate and focused on the food.

Denmark had a prime view of his friends, seated right across the room from him, but…he couldn't give them any kind of signal. Damn.

Or, wait. He could talk to England. Since England hadn't been part of the morning Plan, nobody would suspect. "Hey, England!" he yelled, standing up and moving away from the table.

The island nation came over to him, grinning. "What's going on, hot stuff?"

Den bent down to whisper in his ear. "I think Norway is trying to get back together with me."

"Ha ha ha!" England's laughter was loud and merry. "No shit, wanker."

"It's that obvious?"

England raised one impressive eyebrow. "He was gawking at you all morning. Better come up with a plan! Gilbert's waiting for you!" He laughed again, punching Denmark fondly in the arm, and went back to his table.

"I'm not hungry anymore," Denmark said to his table mates. "I'm going to go lie down in my room for a bit."

"Want me to come with you?" America asked. "Since we're in the same room?"

"Sure, if you're done eating, I don't mind."

"Nah, that's fine. I can catch up on the entertainment news channel!" America threw down his napkin and got up from the table. "Just send the bill to my room, Swissy, all right?" he said airily, hurrying after Denmark.

"Sounds good to me," Switzerland said, ordering a few more fancy and expensive dishes.

…

"Where are they going?" Prussia wailed.

"Don't ask me, bastard. Eat your lunch."

"This was the suckiest plan we ever had."

England nodded. "Told you."

"Shut up, Arthur." Prussia put his head down on the table and covered it with his arms.

"Oh, cheer up, albino potato. You know Den loves you."

Even these sage words of Romano's failed to animate the distressed albino.

"Forget it, gits. Come on. Let's go up to our room or something. Sitting around this restaurant watching Gilbert be maudlin is not my idea of a fun time."

"Yeah, all right, bastard. Come on, loverboy, get up," Romano urged, tugging on Prussia's arm.

"I really am in misery," he moaned. "But I'll go."

Together the three friends left the restaurant.


	112. Resolution

**Resolution.**

Denmark headed into the conference room still feeling hungry, and also a little nervous. America hadn't bothered to watch the entertainment news channel at all, but had pelted him with all kinds of questions about Prussia. Could America be interested in the albino? Den's head hurt, and he thought maybe this dumb plan was about the worst thing they'd ever tried to do. He wondered how Prussia and Romano were getting on, and quickly checked to make sure his axe was still where he'd left it. It was.

In the conference room things had changed somewhat. Spain, of course, was now far from Romano, but Norway had moved up to sit beside Swissy, dislodging Canada, who had been there before. Maybe Swissy and Norge had bonded over lunch after he and America had left? Den scratched his head and moved to his seat, elbowing Romano and flashing a smile to England on his other side. Prussia was ignoring them all, writing furiously in his little notebook with a scowl.

Japan convened the afternoon meeting. Bored already, Denmark alternated his attention between America and Prussia, trying to see if the heroic nation really had an interest in the albino, but now that they were in the room, America was leaning over, making little jokes and _sotto voce_ comments to Denmark, or paying attention to the meeting. Prussia was still not looking at anyone.

Norway and Switzerland did not seem particularly friendly with each other. Denmark wondered whether Norway had only changed seats to – to pay attention to _him_. That would be very forward and completely unlike Norge. He leaned over and whispered as much to Romano, who didn't answer, but drew a big broken heart on his note pad and laughed. Denmark cuffed him affectionately on the head. Ah, whatever. The meeting would be over soon, and so would this stupid plan.

"We are done for the day," Japan eventually announced. Nations rose and stretched, most leaving the room.

"Bloody hell. He's really racing us through the agenda," England said to the table in general, slapping his notebook shut.

"Hah. Didn't notice. Too busy watching these other bastards."

Den stood up and stretched too. He was about to make his first fake make-up comment to Prussia, when America elbowed him and said happily, "So, Denmark. Want to have dinner with me tonight, dude?"

Den froze. Th- _that's_ what America had been up to? He panicked. Norway, and now America? This plan was in shreds! What would he say? How could he –

Switzerland interrupted his thoughts by pulling out the Nerf gun and fiddling with it, aiming it more or less in America's direction. "I was hoping Denmark would have dinner with me," he stated, frowning subtly and standing up. His cheeks were red but he seemed quite determined.

Denmark's brain was now fully in a panic. What the hell could he say? Sure, it was only a Nerf gun, but he knew Switzerland probably had a real pistol – or more than one – in his room, and might try to get revenge later, if Den turned him down. He looked around, not knowing what to do. Prussia was staring at the table, but England and Romano were both smirking at him. Bastards! He'd get them back later.

" _Danmark_ and I have a lot to talk about." Norge's calm voice broke through. "I believe he should go to dinner with me."

At this, Prussia raised his gaze, and Den was astonished to see a brilliant, happy grin on his face. Almost maniacal. Denmark now realized just how ludicrous the whole situation was, and the panic drained from him immediately, looking at that beloved face. He decided not to say a word, and sat back down, determined to see this – this _bidding war_ through to the end. He plastered a pleasant, noncommittal smile on his face, trying not to snort, as he watched the three interested nations bicker about him.

"Hey, man, Denmark and I are totally good friends now, and he'll go out with me. We have so much in common! He even celebrates my birthday!" America said, to groans from England. Out of the corner of his eye Den saw Romano hug the island nation briefly.

"Denmark doesn't want to date an oaf like you." Switzerland's voice was matter-of-fact. "Not to mention that America is simply too far for him to travel on a regular basis."

" _Danmark_ ," Norge said, without any further inducement.

This went on for about ten more minutes, and then Iceland shoved his way to the group of arguing nations and tapped Norway on the shoulder. "B-b-big brother," he said nervously, "don't pester Denmark! He's still brokenhearted about losing Prussia! He's not ready to date anyone yet, and all this bickering is probably making him very nervous!"

Denmark was actually rather touched by that. He knew how Ice hated to call Norway "big brother," but he'd done it for Den? He'd thank him later, and explain, even though Ice would probably get pissed off about the fact that this was all a big manipulative plan.

With that, he decided this stupid farce had gone on long enough. Den stood up and stretched, grinning at all of them, but before he could speak, Sweden headed for the group as well. "Oh, not you too, Sve," he said under his breath, but Sweden either didn't hear, or didn't care. America heard, though, and scowled.

"Y'shouldn't be act'ng like ch'ldren," the taciturn blond said, light glinting off his glasses. He drew breath again and Denmark knew he was going to launch into some lecture, so he hurried to speak.

"Listen, guys, I'm really flattered by all this attention." He smiled nicely at all of them, including Sweden, Ice, and his friends. "So many cool nations interested in me! I've listened to all your arguments, and I've made a decision."

Everyone drew a deep breath. Den let the drama build by first meeting the eyes of America, on his right (that nation gave him a thumbs-up and a big toothy grin), then acknowledging Sweden and Ice, who were still standing there, to Norway, who said nothing and in fact didn't even change his stoic facial expression.

Denmark's eyes then moved to Switzerland, who had holstered the Nerf gun and was blushing like mad. And then he looked at Prussia, who was still grinning, pressing his lips together, eyes wide and sparkling. "I choose –"

Everyone swayed subtly forward to hear his decision.

"Romano," Denmark said, bending down and hugging the half-nation.

Prussia and England burst into loud, immediate laughter, and Romano just smirked at all the bidding nations.

"Romano?" America asked, clueless. "If I'd known you were available I'd totally have gone for you!"

 _"What?"_ England punched the table, all laughter gone. Prussia howled louder at that, but Romano scowled and broke free of Den's embrace to hug the island nation defiantly.

Denmark was damn insulted by that comment of America's. He turned to loom over him and give him a very evil look.

"Uh, uh…" America said, backing away hastily, but before he could say anything further Switzerland pulled his Luger from some hidden recess and shot the chain holding the chandelier at the front of the room. It fell onto the table, smashing into pieces and startling everyone. Luckily it was at the head of the table, and no one was standing nearby.

"This is ridiculous," Switzerland barked, holstering the pistol and leaving the room.

"I agree, man," from America. "This bites. Let me out of here." He hurried quickly after the Alpine nation.

Sweden shook his head in disappointment and drew Norway out of the room with his arm around him in a brotherly way. Prussia watched them go, still laughing.

Eventually the Skirmish Brothers, England, Iceland and Liechtenstein were the only ones left in the conference room. "How bloody stupid. Come on, gits; let's clean this up before Japan finds out."

"Idiot. Don't you think he'll find out when he sees there's no light?" Romano poked England.

"Shut it. You know what I mean."

Liechtenstein stood at the front of the room, idly gazing out the window, while the others worked to clean up the broken glass. Denmark and Prussia, after a quick hug and kiss, lifted the frame of the chandelier and moved it to the side of the room. The table was dented. "Kesesese! Hope Japan's okay with that. At least he can't blame it on us. We have a ton of witnesses."

Iceland coughed delicately. "Denmark? This was some kind of prank?"

Den nodded and took his "little brother" to the back of the large room to explain it to him. He also took a moment to thank him for intervening. "Sorry if it made you uncomfortable. It didn't quite work out as we'd planned."

Iceland smiled. "It's all right. It was pretty amusing even though it backfired."

Liechtenstein was still standing at the window. "This is unusual," she said.

England, nearest her, asked what she meant.

She gestured out the window. " _Bruder_ and America are leaving the hotel together." There was a short pause. "Oh! They are _holding hands!_ " She pressed her palms to her burning cheeks.

There was a frozen moment of disbelief and then all of them began laughing so hard they had to sit down.

Romano wiped his streaming eyes. "Cheh, I knew we could do it, bastards."

"Bloody backwards way to accomplish it, though."

"Never again," Denmark told them all. "Not _ever_. Come on, Teutonic Knights; let's go switch rooms before they get back."

"Kesesese!"


	113. A Date in Hell

**A Date in Hell.**

It was time for a world meeting. Belarus was next on Estonia's spreadsheet, and he had been considering how to approach her. And knowing her as well as he did, he finally concluded that the best way to ask her for a date was not to email her ahead of time, but to spring it on her in person, on the day he wanted to go out.

After all, if she had plans, or something, well, that wouldn't be _Estonia's_ fault, now would it? And then he could mark her off the spreadsheet and move on. B-b-because he was still a little frightened of her.

So he'd decided to talk to her about a date on the last day of this week-long meeting in Japan. He headed downstairs. Austria greeted him pleasantly on his way to the buffet table.

Belarus actually looked pretty normal today. Maybe he'd have some luck. He got some coffee and sat at the table near Latvia, taking out his laptop. He had his spreadsheet with him, but didn't feel the need to open it.

He heard America making a lot of noise about something. Estonia looked up and saw him joking with Denmark and his friends. They all seemed to have such a good time together.

Wait! Austria was…over there. But America was over _there!_ Had they broken up? Oh, dear. This would mess up the entire spreadsheet, because he was into the B's already, and they were both A's. Estonia quickly pulled up the spreadsheet and glanced at the columns he already knew by heart. Oh, bother. If Austria and America were both free, then he had to make a decision. Press forward with Belarus, and through the alphabet, as he'd originally planned? Or jump out of the progression to go back and ask one of the A's for a date?

Well, he hadn't planned to talk to Belarus until the last day. So, rather than panicking, Estonia allowed himself the luxury of putting this decision off until later. Japan got the meeting started, and he began to assiduously take notes, from time to time glancing at America, Austria, or Belarus.

…

In the end the Baltic nation simply could not make himself go back in the alphabet to ask either of the A nations for a date. On Friday he left the room with most of the others, following closely behind Belarus, hoping he could get her alone.

Yes! She turned down a corridor while the others streamed towards the restaurant. Estonia followed; after a few steps he cleared his throat and said, "Ahem. Belarus?"

"Yes, what do you want?" she asked, when she saw him. "Hurry it up. I'm starving. That stupid Japan – "

"I was wondering whether you'd like to have dinner with me tonight." Wow! He hadn't stammered once!

Belarus' eyes widened. "You're serious? Did Brother Russia put you up to this as some kind of joke?"

"What? No! I'm completely sincere. I – I'd like to go on a date with you." Not entirely true. She just happened to be next on the list. But he wouldn't tell her that.

She tapped her foot, thinking. "Yes, all right. Meet me here in half an hour. I have some things to do."

Estonia nodded, hardly able to believe it had been so easy. "Half an hour it is, then," he smiled, heading towards his room to freshen up.

…

"What restaurant are you taking me to?" she demanded.

"What would you like to eat? There are a lot of international restaurants around this area." Estonia smiled politely and extended his hand to the blonde, who ignored it.

"Any Russian restaurants?" Her tone was distant.

Oh, dear. Perhaps he should have expected something like this. "Let me check." He motioned her towards the edge of the sidewalk, where she stood tapping her foot while he checked his smartphone. "No. I don't see a single Russian restaurant within a ten-mile radius." Estonia scrolled through a few more pages of entries. "There's an Italian place?" he asked, hopefully.

"No, Italian won't do. Let's see if there's a McDonald's." She took the phone from him and began scrolling.

 _McDonald's_? He couldn't possibly have heard Belarus correctly. But rather than ask her to repeat herself, he'd just wait and see where they ended up for dinner. Why not? It might be an adventure.

"Yes! Come on, there's one right down the road," she said, handing the phone back. This time, she took his hand, which surprised and pleased the Baltic nation, but unnerved him a little bit too.

Yes, she was taking him to McDonald's. Unbelievable. Also unbelievable was how fast she could power down the street in those heels. He had to scramble to keep up! "You actually like this place?" he dared ask.

She dropped his hand. "Russia likes this place. It's not that bad." They stood in line and ordered; Estonia paid the small amount for their meals. "Thanks."

"It's not a problem, Belarus. I'm glad you came out with me tonight." He wanted to steer her away from the topic of Russia, though having lived with them both for so long he knew that would be a tough prospect.

They got their trays and sat to eat in the harsh lighting. The restaurant was fairly quiet for this hour. "Have you any national festivals coming up?"

"You know when my national festivals are!" She scowled at him, picking up her Big Mac. "At least, you _should_ know. Don't you know? At the end of July is the date I declared my independence from the Soviets." She shuddered a little and drank some of her milkshake.

"Oh, yes. I'd forgotten." Estonia was a little nervous again.

"Listen, why did you ask me on a date anyway? All of a sudden you're interested in me? Very strange, if you ask me. I wish I'd had time to ask Big Brother some questions about you."

"What questions?" Estonia was baffled. "You know just as much about me as I know about you." He couldn't resist adding a teasing comment: "At least, you _should_ know. Don't you know?" He playfully matched his tone to the one she'd used earlier.

Apparently Belarus didn't get the joke. "What are you talking about? I don't pay attention to my brother's minions!" She angrily slurped the last of her milkshake. "Get me another milkshake."

"You're going to get fat," he blurted out, unwisely. _Minions!_

"Shut up! America eats this garbage all the time, and he's not fat."

Sadly, she was right. Estonia took the opportunity to escape to the counter and order her another milkshake. Idly he tried to picture her as a fat nation, and couldn't. Just as well, he supposed.

When he got back to the table she was finishing up her fries and staring across the room. "Check that out," she told him, pointing with a fry. "Switzerland and America. Feeding each other French fries." She laughed a little. "You won't get me to do that ridiculous nonsense, so don't even think about it."

Estonia was stunned. _Stunned!_ He'd assumed that Austria had broken up with America, so that he could get back together with Switzerland. This was quite a development. America and Switzerland? He wondered how Austria was taking it.

And he'd have to work on the spreadsheet when he got back to his room. Hopefully Latvia would be asleep by then. He could work quietly with a stylus instead of tapping on the keyboard.

He was so deep in contemplation of this strange sight that Belarus poked him in the cheek with a fry. "Hey! Are you here on a date with me, or too busy drooling over America?" Then she grimaced a little. "Though he is really drool-worthy. Even my brother thinks so."

The two of them sat and stared at Switzerland and America, the remainder of their food growing cold.

"Hey!" Belarus poked him again, this time with a pointy red fingernail. "Come on, let's get out of here. Take me to a show or something." She stood up.

"What? I don't think tickets are going to be available on the spur of the moment like this. Although I can check." Estonia took one last sad look at the two in the corner before gathering up their trash and taking it to the bin.

Belarus was tapping her foot, again, in its stiletto heel, the whole time he did this, and that tap-tap-tap sound was constantly adding to his nerves. "Hey, America!" she called out, and everyone in the restaurant turned to look at her, except the now-blushing Switzerland. "Nice to see you!"

"Hey, Belarus, Estonia! Have a great night!" that nation yelled back, as they walked out the door.

"What a nice guy," she sighed.

"I know," Estonia replied, before realizing that might be uncouth.

But she didn't seem to notice. "All right, then, take me to a movie."

"Are you able to follow a movie in Japanese?"

"I don't know yet, do I? Take me to the movie and I'll find out!" Her voice was menacing, and he hurriedly scrolled through movies on his phone before locating the nearest theatre.

…

Estonia didn't bother trying to follow the movie. More than once he tried to take Belarus' hand, in the dark, feeling a little bit braver in here than he would have done on the brightly-lit streets of Tokyo.

More than once, Belarus pushed him away.

 _Man up_ , he told himself. _This is a date!_ So at the next quiet part of the movie, he leaned over, trembling, and pecked a quick kiss on her hair.

She didn't even notice! She smelled really nice, though. Vaguely, through his nerves, he wondered what kind of shampoo she used.

He tried again, during a quiet section of movie, and just as his lips met her hair again, the on-screen action erupted into a sudden loud fight. Belarus jumped, and Estonia yelped in her ear.

"Ow! Estonia, what are you doing?" She pushed him away with both hands; his glasses fell off. "Don't scream in my ear. Do you want to leave this movie? Is it scaring you too much?" she asked, in a malicious voice.

"I – I admit I'm a little on edge," he replied, trying not to seem too accusing, resettling his glasses.

"Well, then we should leave! I can't even figure out what's happening in this bizarre movie. Come on." She stood up and strode out of the theatre, leaving him to stumble along in the dark behind her.

"Let's go back to the hotel," she grumbled. Shrugging, and more relieved than he cared to admit, Estonia followed her to a taxi station and they climbed into a cab. Well, at least this experiment was over, and once he dropped her off, he could check her off the spreadsheet, take a warm bath, and relax a little. Relax a _lot_.

They didn't encounter any of their fellow nations as he escorted her to her hotel room, which she was sharing with Ukraine. At the door, he tried to be gallant, extending a hand to shake. "Th-thank you, Belarus, for the date. I hope it wasn't too bad for you."

She smirked at him. "This was the best date I've been on in a long time, Estonia. I might have misjudged you." Belarus put her arms around his neck, snuggling seductively against him. "We should start dating exclusively. It would be nice to have someone who paid attention to me 24/7."

"Er – er – I, uh – Good night, Belarus!" he yelled, breaking away and running up the stairs in desperation, hearing her crazy laugh echoing behind him.


	114. A Sweet Date

**A Sweet Date.**

Estonia cleared his throat before ringing Belgium's doorbell. He had on a new suit and even a new pair of glasses! Belgium, at meetings, always seemed so pleasant and kind, and he wanted to make a very nice first impression.

She answered the door, wearing a flowing black dress that he'd not seen her in before. "Estonia! Please, come in," she offered, holding the door open. "I just need to find my earrings."

"It's nice to see you," he said, extending another bouquet of cornflowers. He was already beginning to feel this was his signature touch.

"Oh, how lovely! Come into the kitchen and I'll put them in water." She led him to her kitchen, which was not only functional, but whimsically decorated. As she bustled about putting the flowers into a vase, he stood in appreciation of the décor.

In a moment the flowers were attended to. "There. I'm going to put them on the mantelpiece, and then I need to find those earrings." She led her guest into the living room and put the vase on the shelf above the fireplace. "Please, make yourself comfortable. I have some very sweet plans for us tonight!"

Belgium left the room and Estonia sat on a large sofa, looking around. This house definitely had a woman's touch, he realized. Having spent so much time at Russia's, and then building his own, this feminine flair appealed to him greatly. And Belgium was a beautiful girl. Much better than Belarus, who hadn't spoken to him since their miserable date. How that girl liked to annoy people! He sighed just as his hostess came back in the room, fiddling with an earring.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Estonia. I didn't mean to keep you waiting."

"No, it's quite all right," he replied, rising. "I was thinking about – about some work things I'll need to attend to. That's all." He smiled at her. "Your home is lovely."

"Thank you," she smiled. "Are you ready to go?"

"Of course. I'm quite interested to see where we'll end up!" he teased playfully.

"I told you it would be sweet?" she reminded him. "I'm taking you on a tour of the Neuhaus chocolate factory!"

Estonia's eyes widened. "I love chocolate."

"Everyone loves chocolate!" Belgium grabbed her handbag and led him towards the door. "Neuhaus is one of our foremost suppliers."

"I always thought Godiva was your most famous."

"It was, but then America took it over, and, I daresay, the quality is not quite the same." She locked the front door. "Come on. We can take a bus." Now that was a nice touch. Estonia was greatly in favor of working to aid the environment, and taking a bus instead of a car or taxi would be quite beneficial.

On the bus he thanked her nicely for coming on a date. "Oh, I was happy to be asked," she said, smiling at him. "I haven't been out for a while."

He took her hand briefly – it was nice and warm – and they sat happily smiling at each other for the duration of the bus ride. "You recently celebrated a national festival, didn't you?" Of course she had. He'd done very thorough background work for this date.

"Yes! You looked it up? That's so thoughtful of you." She blushed a little. "I – I'm sorry that I didn't think to look up anything about you."

Estonia felt himself blushing too, Belgium was so _sweet_! "Th-that's all right," he told her. "We have plenty of time to learn about each other." When she gave him a soft smile he felt encouraged. He took her hand again and held it loosely, not wanting to be too forward.

But in a moment the bus stopped and she let go. "This is our stop." They got off the bus together, Estonia gallantly extending a hand to help her down the steps. "Follow me!" she laughed.

He didn't quite dare to hold her hand while they walked, so they proceeded companionably side by side. "But you were asking about my festivals," Belgium remembered. "I declared independence from my brother at the end of July, but unfortunately didn't get officially recognized for a long, long time. But things are good now, between us."

"That's very good," he replied, "and, you know, it seems like the whole world is trending towards better relations overall. I can hope that we won't see any more wars."

"Oh, believe me. Wars – well, you know just as well as I do, how bad a war can be." She shook her head vigorously. "Here's the factory." She gestured towards a beautiful building.

"Is it open at this hour?" he wondered.

"Ah, no. I asked them to open it specifically for us."

Estonia smiled. Seemed he'd be touring famous places all over the world after hours! Well, if he started dating Belgium on a regular basis, then maybe not, but if things didn't work out…

He remembered how Australia had pulled him into an alcove for some kissing, and wondered whether Belgium was bold enough to do that here. Probably not.

But ah, aren't chocolate-flavored kisses always sweeter?

He felt himself blushing and hurried to the building with her. She was such a cute girl. He was flustered already!

Inside, instead of taking him on the tour herself, Belgium enlisted the help of a factory worker, who had stayed late to assist. Hm. Estonia now surmised there would be no sneaky chocolate kisses, not with a factory worker lurking nearby!

Strangely, this reassured him, and he pushed his glasses up his nose and was able to focus on the tour. He learned of the different varieties of cocoa beans used, saw the gigantic mixing vats, and even learned what kind of skills a person needed to be considered a Master Chocolatier. It was all very fascinating. He asked the tour guide (and Belgium) a lot of questions, and got answers to all of them. He was really learning a lot!

At the end of the tour some samples were provided. "I love Neuhaus the best," Belgium sighed, picking up four pralines and cramming them all into her mouth at once.

Estonia was so nonplussed that he simply stood and stared. The factory worker didn't seem to think anything was amiss, and he too squashed a bunch of candies into his mouth in a big wad.

More delicately, the Baltic nation nibbled on one praline, while his mind turned this over and over. Belgium was a total pig! She was stuffing even more chocolate into her mouth. He knew Belgian chocolate was considered top of the mark, and he'd expected her to be fond of her own country's chocolate, but this was a bit nerve-wracking. Estonia suddenly wanted to be anywhere but here. E-even Belarus would be preferable to this!

Well. Not really.

He decided to get her out of there before she got sick. "Belgium?"

"Mmf? Mm. Mm-hmm," she nodded, hastily swallowing the lump of chocolate in her mouth, beginning to choke. Estonia quickly applied the Heimlich maneuver and soon she was breathing heavily, but no longer in danger of choking. "Th-thank you," she wheezed. "I always get carried away with chocolate."

No kidding.

"We – we should probably be going," he suggested; the tray of samples was already empty and the factory worker kept checking his watch.

"Oh, what a good idea!" Belgium turned to go. Her guest noticed a big smear of chocolate on her face. Estonia knew that a playful nation like France would probably offer to lick it off, but he didn't want to get into that.

Together they went outside; the factory worker locked the door behind them. "Come on, we can get a cab," Belgium said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Wasn't that fun?"

"Fun," Estonia echoed weakly. Well…it _had_ been fun, right up to the end. They climbed into a cab and went back to Belgium's place.

At her door, she turned to him with a beaming smile. "I hope you'll come in for a while. I have chocolates from several of our other main companies. We can do a taste test!" She nodded enthusiastically.

Estonia was positive that he couldn't handle that. "I – thank you for inviting me, Belgium, but I do have to get back home. Per-perhaps we can share chocolate some other time?" He really hoped that open-ended statement was firm enough, without being rude, to get his message across.

"Oh, all right," she smiled, kissing his cheek. "I'll see if I can get Spain to come have chocolates with me. He and I love to eat chocolate together! Good night!"


	115. A Hot-Blooded Date

**A Hot-Blooded Date.**

Estonia rang Bulgaria's doorbell. He was quite nervous tonight, compared to his previous experimental dates. He'd always loved exotic dark-haired men and women, and Bulgaria fit the bill to a T, with his deep brown hair and eyes as black as coal. The Baltic nation had indulged in a little fantasizing every day this week, after Bulgaria had said yes.

Even those black gloves were sexy. Estonia always equated black leather gloves with domination. He shuddered pleasurably, and Bulgaria – dressed all in black, oh, _damn_ – answered the door. "Hello! Please come in," he said, in his deep and accented voice.

Mm, Estonia was in big trouble already. He just wanted to rush to the bedroom! But that wouldn't do. He held out his gift – not cornflowers this time, but a box of Neuhaus chocolates. "It's n-nice to see you," he stammered.

"Belgian chocolates? Huh, that's surprising. Thanks. Maybe we can share them later?"

Oh…Estonia pictured himself naked on a bed with a naked – but still gloved – Bulgaria rubbing chocolate all over his body and licking it off. "Argh!" he muttered, and then turned bright red when he saw the shock on Bulgaria's face. "Oh. I'm – I'm so sorry. I'm a bit distracted."

"I know how that can be," the dark-haired nation agreed. "Are you ready to go out? I thought a nice dinner, and then maybe just wandering around Oborishte? It's a nice night for it." Indeed. In early September the weather was quite seasonal down here.

Estonia nodded, swallowing, wondering whether Bulgaria would surprise him with kisses like Australia had. "Y-yes, that's fine," he stammered again, and clenched his fists in an effort to get a grip.

"Okay! Let me get my gloves and we can go." Bulgaria pulled on a pair of the black leather gloves, ignoring or possibly not hearing Estonia's sharp indrawn breath, and they left together.

…

Dinner was very pleasant. Estonia was not conversant with Balkan dishes, but everything Bulgaria ordered was delicious. He was also beginning to get over his extreme lust for his host.

Well. He wasn't getting over it, but he was keeping it under control.

Bulgaria paid the check, and Estonia thanked him. "That's all right. I'm having a really nice time with you. I wasn't too sure about it, but now I'm glad I said yes. I hope you will be able to come back at the end of September," the host told him, somewhat shyly, as they left the restaurant.

"For the celebration of your independence?"

The black eyes widened in joy. "You know of it?"

"Y-yes. I do a lot of research before spending time with an unfamiliar nation." Estonia pushed his glasses up his nose.

"That's wonderful. I should start doing things like that." Bulgaria smiled, but Estonia felt his heart sink. Still nobody had thought of looking up his festivals! Perhaps he should be better about putting information on the web.

"I find it informative. You should try it!" Encouraged, he reached out and took Bulgaria's hand in his.

The host nation blushed and slipped his hand away. "I – I'm sorry," he said politely. "I don't like people touching me. That's why I wear these gloves all the time."

Oh. "You mean, ever?" Estonia blurted.

The dark eyes were confused. "What do you mean?"

They were near a little alleyway. Estonia decided to take a risk. He beckoned his host into the alley and put his hands on Bulgaria's cheeks, leaning in for a passionate kiss. "Mm, Bulgaria," he murmured, pressing closer.

"Ack! Estonia!" The Balkan nation jumped away from him. "What are you doing?" he hissed. "I just told you I don't like people touching me!" He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Are you some kind of sex maniac?"

Sex maniac? _Estonia?_ "Oh, damn, I – I'm sorry, Bulgaria, but you're so sexy. Just the kind of man I like, dark, with that deep voice like melted chocolate…" Estonia couldn't have stopped himself for a million Euros. "I've been so excited all week…the gloves…"

But Bulgaria was still standing in the alley like a deer in headlights. "You! I never heard anything about _you_ being like this! You just swoop in on unsuspecting nations and try to seduce them?" He wiped his mouth again. "And – and _chocolate_! I bet you had some devious idea for those chocolates, didn't you?" The anger was now escalating, and Estonia felt a little threatened, here in the alley.

He didn't speak, but he knew a blush was creeping up his face. What a miserable night this was turning out to be. Now there would be bad blood between the two of them. "Please forgive me," he said, trying to make amends. "I'll – I'll go now, and – and we don't have to refer to this ever again?" He hoped that would be enough to appease the offended nation before him. "If you can show me where to get a taxi I can leave you alone now." He hung his head in shame. He should have known those fantasies were too good to be true.

"Yes," Bulgaria hissed. "Come over here and I'll get you a cab, you depraved nation."

Estonia would have laughed, if the situation had not been so serious. No one had ever referred to him as depraved before. He wanted to rush home and share that with Lithuania.

Lithuania, who was dating Poland. No, Lithuania would not get the joke.

He sighed and followed Bulgaria back to the busy street, where the gloved nation flagged down a taxi. "We absolutely will not speak of this again," he hissed to the Baltic nation. "I'm sorry you had to ruin a perfectly good date. I had high hopes for you, Estonia. I like the way you think and act – at least, I did before that – that _kiss attack_ – and I thought we could be happy together. I thought you might be one of the few nations who could understand me. But no." Bulgaria broke his own rule and put his hand on Estonia to shove him into a taxi. " _After_ I told you not to touch me! Go, and don't call me anymore."

The cab drove off, and Estonia, with tears in his eyes, sank back against the seat. There was one lesson he'd learned tonight, quite thoroughly. Physical attraction is not a sound basis for a relationship. He sighed and clenched his hands in his lap. Damn.


	116. Cherries

**Cherries.**

"Attention, people! Let's get moving; we don't have all day," Hungary snapped.

"Of course we have all day! That's the whole point of these meetings!" England plopped into a chair and put his head in his hands. No Romano this time. The wanker had decided to skip this one, because he was too frantic about packing for his Danish cruise. But he'd waited until the last minute to cancel.

Maybe they could text each other during the meetings. That would be at least something to take his mind off them. He was in no mood for this. There was a bowl of fresh fruit on the table; he absently took some cherries and ate them, neatly collecting the pits on the saucer of his teacup.

Eventually all the chairs were filled; this meeting room was kind of small, and there was barely any room for people to move around. England felt like a bloody kipper in a tin. He was next to Switzerland, whose perpetual scent of gun oil was threatening to make him gag.

Gilbert and Denmark had sat near the front of the room. There hadn't been any seats left near them, by the time England had reached the room. He pulled out a paper notepad and pen – there wasn't even room to hold a laptop – and turned his attention to Hungary, at the head of the table.

Just then the door burst open, hitting Veneziano's chair and catapulting him into Russia's lap. "Ow, ve, ow!"

Romano stood in the doorway, looking around frantically. "Romano?" several people chorused: Gilbert, Den, Spain, and England himself. Veneziano finally remembered to get off Russia's lap and sat in his own chair again, moving it closer to Germany, as if for protection.

"Sorry I'm late, bastards," Romano muttered, and closed the door.

"Well? Sit down, sit down!" Hungary gestured angrily at the table. "We need to get started." She flipped her long hair out of her face and punched the table.

Romano – and almost everyone else – scanned the room for an empty chair, but there was none. Gilbert cackled at him. "Kesesese! Guess you'll have to sit on someone's lap!"

"Not yours, albino potato!" He sighed, shrugged, and crossed the room towards England, seated near the back wall. "I'm _not_ going to sit on your lap," he hissed. "Move over and let me sit on the floor."

"Are you an idiot? You'll never see anything! What are you doing here, anyway?" England asked him in a low tone.

But before Romano could answer, Hungary started yelling. "Hey, hey, hey! Come on, England, shut up and let's get the meeting going."

"Dammit."

"Just sit on my lap, git. At least you'll be able to see what's going on."

"Fuck. I might as well. There's no room on the floor anyway." With a deep scowl, Romano took his place on England's lap; the island nation automatically put his hand on the small of his friend's back and began rubbing it in small circles. "This is so stupid. Why doesn't she have bigger conference rooms?"

A loud squeal distracted them. "Ooh! That looks so fun; I totally want to sit on Liet's lap! Come on, Liet, let me, like, sit on your lap." Poland poked his friend energetically.

Romano breathed a sigh of relief. He bent down to whisper in England's ear, "Good, if the pony bastard sits on Lithuania's lap, I can have his chair."

"But that's all the way across the room! I want to sit near you," England hissed. They looked over there: Poland was cozily snuggling up on Lithuania's lap, arms around the red-faced brunet's neck, giggling and kicking his high heels back and forth. "Please stay with me," the island nation suggested with his best sweet smile. It would be adorable to have Romano on his lap for the whole meeting.

Romano caved in, as the blond had guessed he would. He slung an arm around England's shoulders and sighed. "Yes, all right, bastard. Let's hope this is a short meeting. And – _no funny stuff!_ " He leaned against his friend and began to relax.

But – "Ve~, Poland! That does look like fun! I want to sit on Germany's lap!"

Romano started to growl and rise from the chair. England cupped his face with his free hand and turned it to face him before he could get away. "Let him do it! The more people sitting on laps, the less attention people will pay to us!"

The half-nation's eyes widened and he nodded, darting his eyes around the room before placing a tiny, quick kiss on England's palm.

In a few minutes half the room's chairs were empty, as not only Poland and Lithuania, Veneziano and Germany, but also Finland and Sweden, Japan and America, and the "reunited" Gilbert and Denmark had cozied up together.

 _Japan and America?_ When the bloody hell had that started up? England snorted. Looked like the Swissy-America thing hadn't lasted too long. He hadn't even realized that when he'd sat next to the Alpine nation. He pointed America and Japan out to Romano, who rolled his eyes but said nothing.

"Hey, _Espagne_ ," they then heard France call out nonchalantly. "I feel left out. Come and sit on my lap, _mon ami_."

"Forget it, _Francia_! You sit on my lap!"

Several moments of bickering took place over this particular issue, while Hungary rummaged around in a backpack for something. "Camera?" Romano wondered.

"Hey, France! Spain!" Gilbert called out. "Cool it – she's going for the frying pan!"

France and Spain quickly sat down: France in the chair, Spain on his lap, and they snuggled, rubbing noses together with enormous grins, while Gilbert roared with laughter and Romano gagged. "I wish those bastards would just stay together and leave everybody else alone," he whispered.

"Maybe they will."

The exasperated Hungary, frying pan in hand, thumped her other fist on the table. "Are we ready to start this meeting yet?"

Everyone nodded meekly. Even Gilbert.

"Good. Shut up and listen." She whacked the table with the frying pan for good measure and began the meeting.

…

Romano actually liked sitting on England's lap. He always did – he enjoyed that feeling of safety, of being cared for, that he got from his braver friend. As the meeting droned on, he found himself relaxing more and more in the blond's half-embrace, until his head rested cozily on England's shoulder. The island nation dropped his pen and took Romano's hand, squeezing it gently.

Hmm…if he turned his head, just a little – yes, he was able to press a surreptitious kiss to his friend's cheek; his eyes scanned the room, but no one was looking. He let out a pleased little secretive murmur and kissed him again, feeling the muscles of England's face pull up into a smile. The fingers of their clasped hands laced together almost instinctively. Romano shifted on the blond's lap.

England turned his face a little bit towards him and whispered, "I'm glad we're in the back of the room." The hand that he'd kept around Romano's waist slipped lower to caress the brunet's hip; he leaned his head back and kissed Romano's cheek.

The half-nation got a little worried, again, that somebody might be looking. He glanced around the room and noticed that everyone else seemed to be highly-focused and busy taking notes, even the albino potato! So he leaned down and turned England's face to his for a proper kiss, on the lips, feeling very daring as he did so.

"Oh, please don't, unless you want to start making out back here," his friend cautioned him quietly. "I can't focus on both the meeting and you."

Romano gave him a little scowl, but he did understand. He fully intended to focus…

…until England continued, "Of course I'd rather be kissing you than paying attention to the bloody meeting."

This seemed like a pretty blatant invitation. The scowl was chased away by a subtle smile, just before their lips met for a sweet, discreet kiss. "Mm," England murmured, but he turned back to the meeting.

To pass the time, Romano took some cherries from the bowl and ate them, absently dropping cherry stones into England's empty teacup, making a little "plink" each time. He always liked cherries, and these were particularly good, firm and juicy. He let out a low chuckle, which caught his friend's attention, but the brunet merely smiled and stroked his hair.

He nuzzled that messy hair during the next set of talks, feeling the rebellious blond strands against his lips, pressing sneaky kisses to England's scalp. Periodically he'd survey the room, in case anyone had an eye on them, but almost everyone was intent on the speaker…

…except his idiot brother, who was silently but unashamedly running his fingers through the potato bastard's hair, messing it up. Germany looked pissed off, ha ha, but he wasn't trying to fix his hair or stop Veneziano from playing with it. He hadn't reacted at all.

Japan was sitting bolt upright on America's lap, busily taking notes. Huh. America looked kind of angry. Maybe because Japan wouldn't snuggle? He watched the hero slip a packet of something out of the pocket of his bomber jacket (chewing gum? yeah) and pop a piece into his mouth.

Romano sat astonished as Japan flung his note pad and pencil onto the table, turning to watch America with an almost feverish expression. The burger bastard laughed and chewed his gum ostentatiously, popping it, and Japan kept his gaze on that wide, laughing mouth as if he expected dancing girls and skyrockets to appear.

Pfft. Whatever. Romano leaned over and kissed England again. "Mm, your kisses are so good," his friend whispered, kissing him back.

So were England's. He must have been eating cherries, Romano realized; his lips were themselves like cherries, firm and juicy and sweet. After about six minutes of these sneaky back-of-the-room kisses, England slid his hand up the back of Romano's uniform jacket, tugging on his shirt to untuck it from the khaki pants. Romano felt the cool hand travel up and down the warm skin of his back, making him shiver; he leaned against his friend and kissed him again, running his fingers through England's scruffy hair, murmuring with pleasure at being caressed.

Then in a panic he sat up straight, once again remembering they were in a meeting room. England laughed at him a little, but still no one was attending to them. Romano slowly allowed himself to relax again, fidgeting a little on England's lap.

"Aren't you getting tired of holding me on your lap?" he asked, his tongue lightly circling the edge of England's ear.

"Of course not. But if you want to switch places, I will." They kissed a few times while he thought about this. Romano checked the room again – everyone seemed to be floating off into a little private universe – so he thought it might be safe.

"Yes, please." He wanted to slide his hand down the back of England's pants.

Without regard for the rest of the room they stood up, stretching as best they could, and then Romano took the chair and England gently positioned himself on his lap.

"Very nice, _mio bastardo biondo,_ " he whispered, cupping England's face with both hands and drawing him near for some kisses. England put both arms around Romano's neck and cuddled closer.

They kept their kissing quiet and subtle; the only person who might have noticed was Switzerland, next to them, but he had his face turned resolutely towards the speaker, and slightly away from them. To give them privacy? Maybe he was just pissed at them because of the America-date business. Romano couldn't tell. Frankly, he didn't care, as long as the gun bastard left them alone. He broke off the kisses, but slid his hand down the back of England's pants, just as he'd been promising himself.

The blond wriggled a little on his lap. Romano fidgeted a little bit, too, thinking about that, and absently pushed his hand deeper, cupping one of England's firm buttocks in his hand. England leaned his head on Romano's shoulder. In a moment he heard the island nation moan, so quietly, at the squeezing pressure. He leaned a little further forward, and the half-nation immediately slid his hand further down. "No, stop," England whispered. "I really don't want to get all – all in a frenzy here in the meeting room. Please?"

"All right," Romano replied, checking the clock. Hm. Soon lunchtime. A little light kissing ought to see them through to lunch. He turned his head and kissed his friend, at first lightly, just lips meeting, and then more deeply, slipping his tongue into England's delicious mouth. He took his hand out of the green uniform trousers and wrapped both arms around England's waist; in turn the island nation put both arms around his neck and melted into the kiss...

...until a loud whack – as of a frying pan against a conference table – shattered their pleasure and dragged them quickly back to reality. Romano's face was aflame; he scrubbed it with the hand not holding England. Dammit.

But it seemed that Hungary's anger was not directed at them. She began berating America for distracting Japan. With a sagging sigh, Romano checked to make sure England was all right – he too was red-faced and breathing a little heavily, but the relief on his face was quite evident. "I thought we were goners," he whispered with a smile, and Romano patted his ass. But then Hungary turned to yell at Prussia and Denmark, who were completely ignoring her, cooing to each other and tickling each other's chins, nestling close, giggling. "What a couple of wankers."

"Bastard, if she's going to go around the room yelling at everyone, we're doomed. She'll get to us last, and by then everyone will be watching."

"Sit up straight, then. Maybe she didn't notice." England picked up his discarded notebook and pen and began furiously scribbling in it.

The two of them tried to seem attentive as Hungary then turned to holler at Spain and France, who had been equally inattentive. They listened to her with sober faces and then burst into violent laughter, holding each other.

"And you, Germany! I expected better from _you_. Can't you and Veneziano play around on your own time?"

Veneziano contritely finger-combed Germany's hair back into place as best he could before coughing and sitting upright. Germany still didn't say anything. He didn't even raise his gaze from his notebook.

"Sweden and Finland, you have been models of deportment. Thank you." Hungary sniffed and let her eyes scan the table for other offenders. "Poland! Lithuania!"

Those two nations calmly gave their attention to her, but Poland then pulled a funny face and she rolled her eyes. "Just quit it. Just – just focus!" She hit the table with the pan again.

Romano and England were the only couple left. Both of them held their breath as they waited for her wrath to descend upon them. Hungary drew a deep breath, raised the frying pan and brought it down on the table, screaming, "All right, people! It's time for lunch break! Be back in an hour!"

The two nations let those held breaths out very forcefully, in unison, as everyone else stood to leave the room.

Hungary waited politely, as was befitting for the host nation, until everyone had left the room. She quickly caught up with them, since they had been the last two to leave. "You two," she said with a grin. "Keep doing what you're doing. It's fun to watch." She scampered towards the hotel restaurant, leaving them staring after her in disbelief.


	117. Regrouping

**Regrouping.**

A week later Estonia finally felt that he'd pushed the Bulgarian Disaster to the back of his mind. Oh, why had he been so – so _animalistic_ with the dark nation? He had never had a problem keeping his urges under control before. But Bulgaria was so –

No. That was past; he needed to focus. He sat down with the spreadsheet and gave it a once-over.

Oh, right. He'd never updated it to show that America was now with Switzerland. He took care of that and then realized that Austria, in the A section, was free.

Hm. Cameroon? Or go back and date Austria?

He didn't know Cameroon well at all; he knew Austria well, and liked him. He was much closer geographically, too. Estonia suspected there would always be a Switzerland problem lurking in the background, but it could be worth his effort. At least he didn't have to worry about jumping the musical nation out of the blue. Austria was elegant, but he'd never really considered him _sexy._

Though that might change, once they got to know each other. Someone like Austria might have hidden depths.

But on the Belarus night he'd decided not to go back in the alphabet for newly-free nations, so Cameroon it would have to be.

Estonia ate some _piirakka_ and thought about this. Oh, as a well-trained mind, he knew he could find a loophole. And in fact it didn't take him very long to find one at all. If he went back and dated Austria, then at least – if it didn't work out – at least he would be able to fill in a hole in his spreadsheet. As closure-oriented as he was, he liked that idea very much.

Right. A world meeting in Hungary was coming up. He'd assess the situation. He'd need to observe Cameroon as well, because he wasn't sure if that nation was even dating anyone. So, the Hungary meeting would be a mission. And after that, he'd press forward, with whomever he deemed appropriate, spreadsheet-wise.

Estonia shut his laptop and went upstairs for a nap.

…

He was freshly determined to get something out of this meeting. Estonia bounced into the meeting room in an excellent frame of mind, which was not even shattered by Bulgaria's quick turn away from him at the buffet table. True to his promise, he did not speak to that nation, not even to say hello or "please pass the sugar."

There were plenty of seats available so he slipped into one and flipped open his laptop, whistling. Neither Austria nor Cameroon was in the room yet, so he sipped coffee, ate some fresh cherries and a piece of Dobosh torte, and watched nations enter. Switzerland came in and sat in the back of the room, looking grumpy, although that was Switzerland's default setting. Ha.

America came in and chatted with some nations for a while. Prussia and Denmark were up to – well, whatever it was those two got up to – laughing and whispering and pointing at other nations. He wondered where their friend Romano was. Those three had been hanging out together a lot lately.

Austria finally floated in. Estonia watched him gracefully approach the buffet table, fill a plate with breakfast, and then sit next to Switzerland.

Uh? Estonia's gaze whipped around the room. America _not_ with Switzerland? Austria with Switzerland? Nuts. He opened the spreadsheet and updated it after he saw Austria give Switzerland a little kiss on the cheek. That was really all the confirmation he needed. Desultorily he ate a few more cherries before realizing the implications of Austria and Switzerland back together.

America was now free again! And it coincided with his own free status! Estonia nearly jumped for joy in his seat. Hungary came in to start the meeting and he decided to definitely ask America out at lunchtime. _Yes!_

…

By midday Estonia understood that Cameroon was his only real option. In an unprecedented display spawned by Romano and England, nations all over the crowded conference room had begun sitting on their partners' laps, and Japan – _Japan!_ – had sat on America's lap. And had quite definitely enjoyed it, as had the hero.

Estonia sighed. At least it seemed Cameroon was unattached. He'd spend the upcoming week on some research and call him to ask for a date for next weekend.

Sigh.


	118. A Sporting Date

**A Sporting Date.**

Estonia stepped out of the airport, letting the sounds of unfamiliar languages flow over him, scanning the crowds for Cameroon. At this very different place, people in unfamiliar dress passed by, jostling him, and he wondered whether he'd ever be able to find his date in this mess!

And he – he was half-fearful, half-excited, to see if Cameroon would bring his little lion along. Surely a creature of that size would be cuddly and cute? Estonia's eyes sparkled as he daydreamed about cuddling a baby lion on his lap.

But then, that was not the point of this exercise, was it? What about cuddling up with Cameroon? At that, he felt a touch on his shoulder. "Estonia? Welcome to my home."

He turned to see Cameroon before him in gym gear, and yes! He did have the lion with him. Estonia smiled and shook hands with his host. He hadn't brought a present this time, wondering if he'd been jinxing his dates with that practice. "It's nice to see you," he said. Cameroon was tall, and he looked very fit.

Hah. Maybe Estonia would need to start working out. He too was wearing sporting gear, clean and pressed, but he felt too slim, not muscular enough, next to his date.

"Come with me. I'm glad you're dressed like that! We'll go to the playing fields and kick the ball around for a while. I always like to see how my dates do with soccer." Cameroon's bright teeth glistened as he smiled down at his guest.

Uh-oh. "We don't have a big tradition of soccer in my country," he admitted. "But I'll do my best."

"Kokolo, this is Estonia," Cameroon said to his lion. "This is Kokolo."

Estonia hunkered down to pet the lion. "I'm pleased to meet you! You're adorable."

Kokolo growled and batted a paw at the visitor, who laughed and stood up again. What a cute pet!

"I thought after we play for a while, we could go to one of my national restaurants. Have you ever tried the food of my region?" Cameroon led the way out of the airport parking lot.

"I have not. I'm looking forward to it." The two of them, and Kokolo, climbed into a little car; the lion immediately crept up and draped himself around Cameroon's shoulders, keeping a wary eye on Estonia. How adora—ah, he needed to _focus!_ On _Cameroon,_ not the lion.

"So your country doesn't really have soccer?" As they drove, Cameroon scratched his head and Estonia noticed that instead of the cross he normally had shaved into his hair, he had a – a – smiley face?

"Uh! Wow, that's a cool design," Estonia said, pointing to it.

"Thanks. I thought it might be fun for a date; it only takes a week to grow back, and then I can do the cross again."

"Cool. Uh, but, but no, my country isn't really known for soccer. I know the rules of play, of course."

"Doesn't everyone?" Cameroon smiled at him and pulled up to a large field where a lot of his countrymen were playing. "Here we are. Now, Kokolo, I want you to sit on the sidelines, all right? No playing, this time. If Estonia's just starting out, he'll need to concentrate on the game and not be worrying about tripping over you." He bent down to rub his lion's ears.

A low growl was the only response; Kokolo padded off to sit beside a goal.

"Hey!" Cameroon waved to the players and gameplay stopped. He and Estonia walked over to join in.

Estonia was really nervous. He really wasn't any good at soccer. And he knew that Cameroon's country was big on it. He'd read as much as he could before coming down, because obviously it would have factored into the date somehow – if only as conversation – but, oh, what if he made a bad showing?

Well, perhaps they could play for a very short time and then he could persuade his host to go. It wouldn't really be a _date_ if they were hanging around with all these other men all evening.

"Right! Heads up, Estonia!" The ball came flying right at his face and he caught it reflexively. Anytime something headed towards his face, he got nervous, because of his glasses. "Hey, you can't catch it," Cameroon pointed out. "Feet or body or head, but no hands. Got it?"

Estonia nodded sheepishly and tried to kick the ball back to his date; he kicked it, but his kick wasn't powerful enough, and the ball rolled to a stop before reaching the dark-skinned man. "S-sorry," he called, but Cameroon was running towards the ball and kicked it at him again.

This time Estonia tried to kick it when it reached him, but it was too high; in trying to reach his leg up, he fell over. "Oh…"

"Eh! Are you all right?" Cameroon came running right up to him. "You can use your chest or head, you know."

"A-all right, I'll try that." He took the hand that his host offered and stood up again, fixing his glasses. "Okay. I think I'm ready."

"Okay. Let's just all kick the ball around a little to get used to it. Yes?"

"Sure. Go."

The African kicked the ball gently towards Estonia, who managed to get it between his feet and kicked it back. For about two minutes they basically tapped it back and forth.

Estonia was gaining confidence, so that when Cameroon said, "I'm going to try to get it past you and into the goal, yeah?" he laughed and nodded. This wasn't so –

 _Whiz!_ Before he could finish his thought the ball had flown past his head and right into the goal. Whoops. "Sorry!"

"Don't be sorry! Just get the ball and let's play."

Estonia was still determined to deal with this, so he got the ball and did his best, although he was no match at all for the powerful Cameroon. The other players had wandered off, so he didn't feel self-conscious about failing in front of a large group, but it was still fairly intimidating. "C-can we go to dinner soon? I'm really hungry," he lied, hoping to get off the field.

"In a little bit! I want to get some more play in, before the sun goes down!" Cameroon shot the ball right at Estonia's face again, and once again he put his arms up to shield his glasses. The ball hit his forearms and fell to the ground.

"Whoops. Sorry!" Damn, it felt like he'd been doing nothing but apologizing all night!

"Eh, it's all right. Come on, kick it back, try to score one!" Cameroon pointed to the goal behind him.

Estonia, determined, set the ball down and kicked it as hard as he could. It flew high in the air. He watched it dreamily, proud of his improved kicking skills, as it headed towards Cameroon's goal. The Baltic nation permitted himself a small smile as he saw the ball about to enter the goal –

– and then his date leaped out of nowhere, headbutting the ball back to the middle of the field. Oh.

"You can't just stand there, Estonia! You have to follow the ball!"

"Right." He ran to the ball, but Cameroon got there first, laughing, and booted it towards the other goal.

Estonia scrambled, but couldn't prevent him from scoring. He stood with his hands hanging down, the fading sunlight glinting off his glasses. "Why don't you take me to a museum or something?" he asked in desperation.

"We still have a little time left. Come on, give it a good kick." Cameroon held the ball out and dropped it on the grass.

By now Estonia was embarrassed and kind of pissed off, too, though he couldn't have said whether that was because of his failures at soccer, or Cameroon's indifference to his (he thought) obvious discomfort. He ran madly at the ball and squeezed his eyes shut to kick, and when he opened them the ball was nowhere in sight. Wow. Had he kicked it that far? Maybe they should start a national team, at home, and train up for the next Olym—

Here he realized Cameroon was standing next to him with a funny expression on his face. "What's the matter?" the blond asked.

Kokolo was padding across the lawn to them. "I think he knows we're done," Cameroon laughed, pointing down at the ball, which was still near Estonia's feet.

"What? _What_? I kicked it! Didn't I kick it?" Oh, he was blushing like mad, and he knew it.

"It's all right. Come on. We'll go to dinner." Cameroon clapped him heartily on the shoulder.

Dejected, Estonia followed his host and Kokolo to the little car.

…

Dinner was at least less stressful, although he wasn't sure about some of the dishes. Cameroon was a kind and informative date, though, and told him about each native dish they sampled. It was interesting stuff, Estonia had to admit – although he wasn't certain he could handle it on a regular basis.

But he could tell that Cameroon had drawn back from the interaction somewhat. He wasn't as chatty as he'd been previously. Surely that couldn't be entirely due to Estonia's soccer skills (or lack thereof)? "I'm glad we got to spend some time together," he hazarded, hoping to get a more dately reaction out of the stronger man.

"It's always nice to spend time with new nations." Cameroon paid the bill and they left the restaurant. "Do you need to get back to the airport now?" he asked politely.

Well, that was blunt and obvious, even though it had been couched in such nice terms. "Yes, thank you," he replied, conceding that this date just hadn't worked out. He wondered whether he'd ever learn why.

At the airport Cameroon gave him a friendly hug. "Thanks for coming down. If you ever beef up your soccer skills, give me a call, all right?"

Estonia smiled weakly. So it really was all about the soccer. He bent to pet Kokolo. "I guess I'll see you at a meeting or something. Thank you for the dinner."

"You're welcome. Take care!" Cameroon and Kokolo headed back to the little car, and a sad Estonia went to the departures area, sighing.


	119. A Surprising Date

**A Surprising Date.**

"Estonia? Hi!"

The Baltic nation turned to see his date, Canada, beaming brightly at him. "Hello, Canada. I'm glad you found me in this mess." He gestured to the throngs of people outside the airport. He was definitely going to get a lot of experience of the world's airports, on this mission of his.

"Me too. But I've been here for an hour, waiting for you." Canada blushed, and he looked adorable. Estonia already wanted to hug him, but remembering his misstep with Bulgaria, didn't. "Come on," the host continued. "We'll go downtown. I have a lot of fun things planned for us!"

"Okay!"

Canada flagged down a taxi and they got inside. "I notice you don't have your bear with you," Estonia said politely. He was glad of that. Cute animals on a date were much too distracting!

"Oh, I never take Kumiwumi on dates." Canada blushed again. "He makes too much weird commentary."

That was surprising. Estonia didn't realize the bear talked _._ Maybe he was like Estonia's mochi creatures? But he didn't say anything about that. "Where are we going?" he asked, instead.

Canada met his eyes and smiled at him. "May I ask you a favor first? I – I'd really like it if we could call each other by our human names today. I think it makes it more personal. Is that all right with you?"

"Of course!" Estonia was both surprised and pleased at this suggestion. Then he became embarrassed. "E-except I don't know yours." He felt himself blushing and pushed his glasses up his nose.

"Oh! My name is Matthew Williams." He held out his hand and shook Estonia's. "I don't know yours either."

"I'm Eduard von Bock." Canada had a nice, soft hand. He wanted to keep holding it but his right arm was stretched awkwardly across his body, so he let go.

"Well, Eduard," and Canad—Matthew blushed, "I hope you'll like what I have planned today." He'd come early on a Saturday; it was a little after noon, Canadian time, and they were in Toronto, which Ca—Matthew had said was his favorite city.

"What did you choose for us?"

"First I thought we could walk around the city, like a sightseeing tour; I'd be happy to do that, because I love this city so much. I can tell you all about it, eh? And we can stop anywhere you like, that you might want to spend more time in, like shops or pubs or whatever. Then tonight I got tickets to a play, and then made reservations for dinner at the restaurant on top of the CN Tower." Matthew smiled at him. "There are wonderful views from up there, and the food is very good, too." He pushed his glasses up his nose.

Eduard felt a little nervous about that. "I'm – I'm slightly scared of heights," he confessed.

Matthew took his hand. "Well, I am too, a little bit. But I make myself go up in the various towers so I can try to get over it. It's not so bad."

"Well, if you can be brave about it, I can try too." He squeezed Matthew's hand, and kept holding it. "It sounds like a fun day."

"Every day in Toronto is a fun day," Matthew sighed. This almost made Eduard laugh, but he just squeezed the soft hand in his again.

For the rest of the taxi ride they chatted about various national happenings. Matthew would be celebrating Thanksgiving next week. "Do you think you could come back for that? We have parades, and all kinds of celebrations. It's on Monday."

Oh, Estonia was very pleased about this. Canada was already inviting him back for another date! He glanced at that cute, smiling face with its funny long hair curl and nodded. "I'd be delighted. We don't have a tradition of Thanksgiving in my country."

Before his host could respond, the taxi drew up outside Old City Hall. "Thank you," Matthew called to the driver, as the two nations headed down the street.

Estonia craned his neck to look at the gargoyles on the building. "I love gargoyles."

"So do I! Do you see the little faces up there?" He pointed up to a group of little deformed faces near the top of a pillar. Eduard nodded. "Those were the city councilors at the time the building was complete. They wouldn't let poor Mr. Lennox have a plaque with his name on it, because the project overran the budget and was delayed. So he got back at them by having ugly faces carved to resemble them."

Eduard laughed. "That's a good use of time and materials!" He peered at the little faces again. "And the funny thing is that everyone now remembers your Mr. Lennox when they see his beautiful building, but nobody is going to remember the names of those councilors."

"I know!" Matthew grabbed his hand and Eduard laughed again. "Come on, let's walk! I'll show you everything!"

…

Matthew and Eduard had a lovely, companionable day together. The Baltic nation had a chance to see many of the interesting sights of downtown Toronto; they'd taken a boat out onto Lake Ontario, so that he could get the famous view of the city, and they'd even done a little shopping. He'd wanted to buy a Hudson's Bay blanket – the colors were so vibrant and would always remind him of this exciting city – but he didn't want to schlep a huge blanket around on the rest of their date! Matthew had promised to have one waiting for him when he came back for Canadian Thanksgiving, though. Estonia was having a great time.

When they ascended the CN Tower both of the self-confessed scaredy-cats held hands tightly; Eduard tried not to look down. Matthew hurriedly led him into the restaurant, where they each took a moment to calm down before being seated.

"This really is a marvelous city," Eduard admitted. "I can see why you like it so much."

"Of course it's not where my government seat is, but it's still where I love to spend time. I'm glad you've enjoyed the day."

"You're an attentive host, and a – a good date," the Baltic nation then confessed, blushing. "I haven't had such a nice date in a long time." Hah. Wasn't that the truth.

Matthew too blushed a little. "Me neither. Everyone always wants to be with my dumb brother instead of me."

"Your –" _Oh!_ That's right. Canada and America were brothers. He'd completely forgotten about that.

Now Eduard went into a subtle panic mode, wondering if he'd been subconsciously pretending he was with America all day. While Canada ordered the wine, he tried to think back to their interaction, but eventually concluded that this was not the case. The two of them had been happy all day, and he hadn't really thought about America until just now. So it was still a successful date!

They ordered their meals and sat back. "If – if you think you can be brave enough, we can check out the view from the observation deck?"

Eduard blew out a deep breath. "I'm not sure about that. Let me consider it while we conclude the meal."

"Okay."

During the meal they spoke of this and that, their fellow nations, world problems. Estonia was quite pleased at Canada's matter-of-fact discussions of these topics. Yes, it was somewhat dull to speak of work issues on a date, but at least they were both in the same business, as it were, and could discuss things with ease.

After dessert – a Canadian treat called a butter tart – Estonia squared his shoulders. "I feel pretty brave," he smiled, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Should we try the observation deck?"

They left the restaurant. "Will you hold my hand?" Canada asked him shyly. "I think that would help me be stronger."

"Of course." They joined hands and went to the observation deck, at first just quietly walking around the deck. Eduard viewed the city silently, admiring the lights on the lake, the bustling activity in the distance, trying to stay calm. "Marvelous," he eventually said. "We have nothing this high at home." The tallest observation deck in Tallinn was a little more than half the height of this renowned tower.

Canada stopped walking on the north side. "There's so much of my land up there," he gestured, "such beautiful areas, that people will never really know. They gravitate towards the cities, because the north is so cold and desolate." He sighed, and Eduard let go of his hand to wrap an arm around him in commiseration.

"Your land is very vast." He'd looked up quite a few facts about Canada before the date; this was a noncommittal statement he felt comfortable making.

"Yet almost all the population lives down near the border with my brother. Those big tracts of land up north – unexplored, for the most part."

"It must be magnificent. I'd love to see something like that, remote and no doubt serene. Europe is so overdeveloped."

"You – you would?" Matthew sounded almost wistful. "Nobody's ever been interested in it before." He turned to face Eduard on the deck, and the expression on his face was so sweet and hopeful that the Baltic nation leaned forward and kissed him. Gently – not like his _kiss attack_ on Bulgaria. "Oh, Eduard." Matthew stepped closer and put his arms around Estonia's neck, leaning forward to kiss him again. "I'm so glad you came over to see me today."

Slightly bemused – but not wanting to miss this opportunity – Eduard pulled his host closer, and they kissed a few times on the observation deck before he realized that others might be watching. He pulled back with a short laugh. "Maybe this isn't appropriate in public," he whispered with a little smile. Canada was a very good kisser!

"You're right." The blushing host gave him a little smile. "W-would you like to sleep over tonight?"

Estonia was touched by this shy offer. Of course Canada wouldn't be a rampaging sex maniac. He'd probably be very cute and cuddly all night. "Sure," he said, eyes bright behind his glasses. "But I didn't bring an overnight bag."

"That's okay," Matthew whispered. "I bet you could fit into some of my stuff. Or if not, America leaves clothes over at my place all the time, and he's bigger than I am, so, they might fit you."

This almost – _almost_ – distracted the visitor, who squeezed his host around the waist. "Then that sounds like fun! Plus I'm sure there's so much more to see around here, that we could do tomorrow?"

"Yes." Canada drew back from him, but took his hand. "Why don't we get an early night, and then tomorrow we'll be all fresh and rested?"

"That sounds fine with me." Eduard grinned at his host, who squeezed his hand and led the way back to the elevator.

…

Canada had a big soft bed with a Hudson's Bay blanket on it. "Here are some pajamas," he said, offering a fleece pair with moose printed on it.

"Thanks." Eduard took them into the bathroom, but they were a little too snug in the waist, and he said so.

"All right, hold on, eh? I'll find a pair of America's." In a moment Matthew's arm, holding a pair of fleece pants with the Stars and Stripes, the Statue of Liberty, and eagles printed all over it, reached into the bathroom. Eduard snorted and took the pants.

"Yes, these fit much better, though they're a little long." He came out of the bathroom holding the moose-print pants. "Here."

"Well, the length doesn't really matter, since we'll be sleeping." Matthew darted a peek at the shirtless Eduard. "Th-they look good on you."

"Er, thanks? Are we going to sleep now?"

"Yes, please. All that fresh air from walking around is so invigorating, but it leaves me drained at the end of the day." Canada, in his maple leaf pajamas, slipped into the bed, holding the covers open for Estonia.

"I had a wonderful day," the Baltic nation said, taking his host's hand. "Thanks for saying yes to a date."

"I had a great time too. It's nice for someone to want me, instead of America, for a change."

"He's going out with Japan, now, right?" Estonia asked idly, remembering how the Asian nation had sat on America's lap at the last meeting.

"Eh, no, they aren't really dating. He likes to tease Japan, but they haven't really been dating since last year."

"Huh. He sure gets around."

"Tell me about it!" Matthew made a face and the two of them laughed together. "Well, good night, Estonia. Eduard."

Estonia placed a sweet kiss on his shy host's cheek. "Good night, Matthew."

…

In the morning Estonia awoke and stretched before opening his eyes, and then remembered he was at Canada's house! What a sweet time they'd had. He was eagerly looking forward to today's adventures in Toronto, whatever they might turn out to be. He rolled over with a smile on his face, opening his eyes, only to find Matthew fully-dressed, seated in a chair in the corner, with his bear on his lap and a scowl on his face.

"M-Matthew? Good morning?"

"You can go home now, Estonia," the soft voice said.

"What? Why? I thought we were going to spend the day together?" Was Matthew a manic-depressive? Why such a turnaround?

"I'm not spending the day with you," Canada huffed, squeezing the bear forcefully. It coughed and he let go.

"Why not? We had such a nice day together!" Estonia was well and truly baffled.

"Estonia, you spent the whole night hugging me and calling me America! I refuse to go on another date with you. That's very ungentlemanly."

Whoops. Estonia felt his cheeks burning and he groped for his glasses on the night table to put them on and look at Canada directly. Yes, the host was quite angry; two red spots burned on his cheeks and he wore an intense frown. "But I – "

"No buts about it. Please just get dressed and go. I'll call you a taxi." Canada set the bear down and left the room. "And don't come back for Thanksgiving!" he shouted weakly over his shoulder.

Estonia took advantage of the privacy to jump up and rummage around collecting his gear. As he walked sadly into the bathroom to change, he heard a high voice say, "Whoever that guy is, he sure doesn't like being mistaken for America!"


	120. Whoops

**Whoops.**

"Bastard, your hair looks like shit. Worse than usual," Romano laughed, as they went back to England's house after a day at the Royal Artillery Barracks, where they'd been watching Olympic shooting events. "If you have a hairbrush I'll brush it for you. I want to see if I can actually make it look nice, but I suspect it'd take a fucking miracle."

"You're a git," England grumbled, but then smiled. "You can brush my hair if you like. But you have to let me brush yours."

"Yeah, whatever. I don't mind." They went into the townhouse and England dropped his backpack on the floor.

After they'd puttered around a little, winding down, Romano asked, "Where's the hairbrush?"

"Come upstairs."

They went to England's bedroom and he fetched his hairbrush. Romano sat on the bed, up against the headboard. "Sit in between my legs, bastard."

"Mm, all right." Before sitting, England took off his uniform belt, jacket and tie, and then settled cozily in the space between Romano's legs.

He'd thought being groomed by his sexy Italian lover would be sensual and playful. Unfortunately he hadn't reckoned on Romano's temper, or the actual inability of his hair to behave. "Dammit, you have the snarliest hair I ever saw." Romano forced the brush through the messy locks. "How the hell does it get like this?"

"Ow! Don't yank. Don't ask me, wanker. It's just the way it is."

"Good thing you wear it short. If you tried wearing it like the perverted bastard, it'd be a complete knotted mess, and you'd look like shit all the time."

England decided not to tell Romano about the time he'd tried growing his hair long. It would only invite more derision.

Finally the brunet gave up, setting the brush aside. "Forget it. I think there's something fucked up in your genes."

"I hate you."

"Mm, I hate you too, loverboy," Romano purred, wrapping his arms around England's waist, kissing his neck. "I'll hate you until the day I die."

"Good," England retorted, but weakly, succumbing to the electric sensation of warm lips on his skin. "But you have to let me brush your hair now."

Romano kept kissing and murmuring for a moment. "All right, bastard. Brush my hair. Nicely. And – and don't mess with the fucking hair curl yet, all right?"

"Yes, wanker," the blond sighed. "Trade places." They traded places and England picked up the brush. "Not that your hair really needs it."

"Yeah, but it always feels nice. Do me, bastard."

"Oh, I'll do you, all right." He began stroking the brush through the dark hair.

"Shut up," Romano said softly, already listless from the brushing. He nestled back against the island nation, murmuring a little.

"You sound like you're purring," England laughed quietly. "My little kitten."

"You're a bastard." But Romano kept snuggling up and shifting his body a little bit.

England didn't speak for a while, just kept brushing, and Romano's little "purrs" got louder. Still thinking of him as a cat, the blond absentmindedly made a few mystic passes with his free hand, and – Romano turned into a cat.

Whoops.

England didn't know what to do. As soon as Romano turned back, he'd probably attack! Bloody hell. He might even attack _as_ a cat. Should he turn him back right away?

But – oh, this cat was mighty adorable. A beautiful longhaired tabby, with Romano's warm amber eyes, a very fluffy tail, and – and a single whisker that curled, just like Romano's hair curl. England's heart melted, and he scooped up the cat and nuzzled it without thinking.

"Mrow?" Romanocat asked, somehow scowling.

Ah, God, England was going to be in so much trouble, but…blast, this opportunity was too good to pass up. "You're an adorable little kitty, Romano," he murmured, burying his lips in the soft fur. He turned the cat on its back – not without some trouble – and began rubbing its belly.

Romano swatted at him with his claws; he managed to slash four parallel rents in the back of England's hand.

"Ow! Oh, don't fight me. You're so beautiful! I wish I had a camera handy."

Romanocat let out a meow that sounded more like "Mmm-noooo…"

"Oh, all right. No camera." England tickled him under the chin. "Cuddle up on my lap, little one."

Romano swiped at his face again, scowling, but England grabbed the paw and kissed it. He let go and began to pet him; the cat started to settle down. "I'll change you back soon, I promise. But you feel so nice, you look so sweet." He leaned back on the headboard, Romanocat cradled in his left arm like a baby, and petted him some more. His belly fur was so fluffy! "Does it feel good to have me pet you? Does it feel better than when I brush your hair?" He smiled.

The cat tilted his head to the side and meowed loudly before nestling close, eyes narrowed and watching the blond carefully.

"Don't worry, little sweetie. I won't do anything bad. I just – I just – " England didn't even know what to say. He wanted to bury his face in the fluffy fur and go to sleep, to cuddle this adorable creature. Even though he knew Romano would eventually scratch him to ribbons. It would be worth it! His purrs were so violent, it felt as though England were holding a motorboat. A fluffy, snuggly motorboat.

And then too, he didn't know if Romano could understand what he was saying, didn't even know whether Romano would remember this later, once he'd changed back. This was a bit worrying. He absently took a paw in one hand and began squeezing it repeatedly; Romanocat's claws extended and retracted with each pulse of his fingers.

The cat kept his narrowed eyes on the claws. England hurriedly let go.

But Romano simply yawned, showing cute little fangs, and England made a sappy little face at that. He put out a finger to stroke Romanocat's cheek, and the cat swiped at it with a paw – but playfully, not fighting. Together they batted each other, England grinning like a maniac and Romano fiercely concentrating. "Ah, I can't stand it!" England cried out, pulling the paw up to his lips and kissing it. "This may be the single cutest day I have ever lived through."

The cat patted his cheek with a paw. Huh. That was kind of mellow, for Romano.

The island nation decided to see what else Romanocat might do. He lifted the cat high and slipped down to lie on his back, settling the cat onto his chest. "Do you want to take a nap, love?"

"Meow." Romano turned in place a few times before settling down with his chin on his paws, staring at England.

The blond reached up a hand and fondled Romano's soft dark ears. "You know, you're almost nicer as a cat than a nation," he laughed.

The cat did not respond. Hah, so, probably this Romanocat didn't understand English. That was good. "I didn't mean that," he apologized, just in case. "You're perfect no matter how you are."

The cat closed its eyes and nestled its head under England's chin. He felt the soft fur against his skin and began stroking Romano's back again, evoking louder purrs. This was so beautifully comfortable. The blond felt sleepy, and would love to cuddle with his Romanocat and sleep, but – he didn't want to miss a minute of this. He knew the spell would wear off in an hour or so. He'd better stay awake and alert, so he could deal with the no-doubt-irate Romano when it wore off.

But it was so comfortable.

And then he felt Romano's raspy little tongue grooming his jaw. Gah, he wanted to squeal at the cuteness! But he was the bloody United Kingdom. He wouldn't squeal like a little girl. England reached out a finger and tickled Romano under the chin again, and the cat stopped grooming and patted his nose with a paw again.

"I'm going to remember this day for the rest of my life."

"Meow."

Well, who the hell knew what that meant. He scratched Romanocat's belly for a little while, and despite his best intentions, they both fell asleep.

…

Romano woke up in a very cramped position. "Huh?" He was lying on top of England, no big deal there. But his head was tucked under the blond's chin and his legs were curled up strangely. He straightened out and slipped off his sleeping friend to lie next to him on the bed.

Huh, what a weird dream! It all came flooding back to him. He'd dreamed he was a cat, and that England had been gooing all over him like some sappy old lady. At least in the dream he'd managed to fight back against this. He remembered trying to claw the island nation defensively. Romano laughed a little and lifted England's hand for a kiss –

– and froze as he saw four little claw marks on the back of his hand. "What? Dammit! Wake up, you fucking mystic bastard!"

"Whoops."


	121. Leaping to Conclusions

**Leaping to Conclusions.**

"Dammit! I cannot believe you turned me into a fucking _cat!_ " Romano's voice rose to a squeak at that, but he didn't even care. "You creepy bastard." He hopped off the bed and stood with his back to the door, panting in anger.

"It – it was an accident," England grinned, reaching out a hand towards him. "Come here. Don't be mad. You were so soft and cu—"

"You _fucker!_ How many other times have you used magic on me?"

"What? I never –"

"Oh, sure, bastard, sure. That's probably how you got me to go out with you the first time, isn't it? Probably the only way you _could_ get anyone to go out with you! _Chigi!_ I can't believe you."

England frowned and got off the bed. "Romano, listen to me. I –"

The Italian backed away. "Forget it, bastard. I'm leaving. Don't call me, and don't come after me, and _do not try any of your fucking magical shit with me!_ " Romano stormed down the stairs and right out the door, slamming it heartily behind him before running down the street.

What a shithead that stupid tea bastard was. Magic! As if turning him into a cat wasn't bad enough, now Romano had to think back to everything else they'd ever done, to see if he'd done it of his own free will, or because the asshole had magicked him into it. Fuck. How would he even know?

As he made his way home, still steaming with anger, he thought back over all their interactions for the past few years. All those nice, fun things – no. Romano now knew it was all a setup. He understood, now, why all the other nations had been so surprised when they'd started dating – and stayed dating. Dammit, he wondered whether England had put some kind of a spell on Den, too, because it was really all Den's fault that Romano had wasted so much of his life on the manipulative fucker. Two whole years!

Shit, they would have had an anniversary next month. _No. Stop thinking like that. It's over._

Romano's rage carried him all the way back to Rome. Well, at least stupid England had listened to his "don't call, don't follow." He stormed into his house and straight up to the bedroom.

 _"Chigi!"_ He was not about to let himself cry over this. He was _not._ Besides, even if he did let himself cry, how would he know it was real? Maybe England had put a spell on him to make him sad about this! "Dammit, you bastard," he cursed the air. "How could you do this to me?" He kicked the wall a few times.

He was so tense. Ah, his head was pounding, and he was pissed as hell, and the only way he knew to alleviate this was to drink, or to cry.

Well. He wasn't going to let himself cry. He headed for the kitchen and opened a bottle of grappa. The hell with the bastard. Romano was better off alone.


	122. Cruising

**Cruising.**

Romano wheeled his suitcase up the gangplank of the enormous cruise ship, trying not to goggle. He'd never been this close to one before. How the hell was he supposed to find those bastards on this thing?

"Kesesese! Hey, Romano!"

Well, that solved that. He checked in and headed towards the bouncing albino. "Hey. Where's Den?"

"Talking to someone about stuff. Come on, I'll show you our room."

"Cabin."

"What?" Prussia turned and gave him a funny look.

"It's a cabin, stupid, not a room."

"Oh! Oh, you're right. I didn't even think of that. Guess Arthur's been teaching you all the awesome ship terminology, huh?"

"Bastard. You think I don't know something like that? That I need him to teach me?" Romano whacked Prussia in the arm. "Shut up and walk." He didn't want to think about England, anyway.

They walked. "So…what's he doing while we're away, anyway?"

"Don't talk to me about that fucking bastard. We're not speaking to each other." Dammit, he hoped that would shut the stupid albino up.

Prussia stopped in his tracks. "You – you _what?_ " He cleared his throat. "You b-broke up?"

The stunned expression on his face made Romano snort, despite his anger at England and the fucking magic. A _cat!_ He wished he'd clawed the bastard's face to ribbons that day. "Uh. I don't – uh – I don't want to talk about it." He kept walking.

But Prussia did. "Seriously, Romano! What did he do?"

"I don't want to talk about it, all right? Dammit, just shut up and show me where the fucking cabin is."

He watched Prussia warily, in case he got nosy again. But the albino walked on, more slowly than before, perhaps trying to figure out what to say. Romano hoped he'd drop the topic of England. He was not really in the mood to discuss it. He still didn't even know what to think about it. They hadn't spoken since that day, and – and Romano didn't even know what he'd bother to say, if he saw the fucker. Probably nothing.

That's right, dammit. He hated the bastard.

"So, I have some Swissy news."

Well, that was neutral enough. "Hah. I know he's not dating America any more. I saw Japan sitting on America's lap at that last meeting." Dammit, and hadn't that been fun, snuggling up with –

"Wasn't that fun?" Prussia reminisced. "I love sitting on Den's lap. I like it when he sits on mine, too, but it hurts my thighs. I bet West is the only one with thighs strong enough to support Denmark."

"Shut up about that, stupid. What's the Swissy news?"

"Well, he did go out with America on a few dates. I guess they went shooting and stuff. But then when the Americans beat the Swiss in the Olympics, in women's beach volleyball, Swissy got all pissed off and broke up with him."

"You're joking. What a lame reason." Not like _Romano's_ reasons, which were perfectly valid. Dammit!

"Not joking. Swissy is awesomely back with Austria now."

"Well, I'm not getting involved in any more matchmaking schemes, you idiot. None." No shit. Nobody should ever get involved in matchmaking. _Ever._

"Oh, I know. Denmark doesn't want to do that either." They'd reached their shared cabin, and Prussia stood back to allow Romano to enter first.

"Whew! This is a pretty nice cabin," Romano admitted, distracted temporarily from his anger. "I was doing some online research but they all looked like skinny little closets. But this one is really nice."

"Den and I are sharing the bed nearest the balcony."

"That's fine, as long as the two of you don't – don't – oh, dammit, you know what I mean," Romano grumbled, as Prussia laughed.

"Yes, I know what you mean. I don't have a problem with people wanting to watch me, but –"

"Shut up about that!" Romano yelled, just as Denmark entered the cabin.

"Hah, nothing ever changes with you two," he laughed.

"Hey, Den." Romano put his suitcase on the bed and began unpacking. "How are you?"

"Great. Just checking out the food and stuff. This is amazing. I can't believe I never went on a cruise before."

"If we like it, we should totally do this over Christmas," Prussia said, bouncing on his bed. "Throw me the pretzels, Den."

"Forget the pretzels! Come on; we can go walk around and find some better food. Let's go check out the boat."

"Ship."

"What?" Denmark looked puzzled.

"It's a ship, not a boat, dammit!"

"Oh, yeah! England must have been teaching you all the nautical terminology!" Denmark beamed and ruffled Romano's hair.

"Shut up about him. _Please._ " Romano looked up in time to catch a panicked shrug from the albino potato. "Come on. Show us the fucking ship. I can unpack later." Romano shut the suitcase and headed to Den's side. "Well? You coming along, Teutonic Wan-uh, Teutonic Fucker?" Dammit.

"Kesesese! Of course I am. But stop calling me that. Come on, Den, show us all the most awesome things."

Denmark shrugged, this time. "Right, well, follow me!"

…

By the time the ship sailed the friends had only explored about half of it, and not very in-depth, either. "Shit, we're going to be spending all our time exploring the ship!"

"No way, Romano. We are going to go on shore every time the ship docks. There's so much to see on land, too."

"I didn't even check the itinerary," Romano confessed, as they found a bar and went in to drink. "Where are we stopping?"

Denmark checked the city names off on his fingers as he listed them. "Stockholm, Helsinki, St. Petersburg, Tallinn –"

"Where the hell's that?"

"Estonia, Romano! Shut up and let him finish!"

"– and Berlin –"

"– Kesesese –"

"– Fuck –"

"– before we end up back at Copenhagen."

"Any of those bastards meeting us on shore?"

"Not that I know of. Den?"

"Estonia actually asked me about that. He wants to show us around, but the others, no."

"Well, at least I don't have to worry about the stupid potato bastard."

Prussia rubbed his hair. "Of course not. I'll awesomely tour-guide us around Berlin."

Romano just shook his head sadly. The albino potato as tour guide? Sounded like a day in hell.

The waiter brought them some drinks. "We making a drink bet today?" Prussia wondered.

"No!" Romano smacked his hand on the table. "No," he said more calmly. He knew if they got him drunk he'd start babbling about England, and he didn't want to get into that shit with them. He'd barely been able to keep a lid on his – his _anger_ these last three weeks since the cat incident. Dammit! He smacked the table again, startling his friends. "Sorry. But no bets."

"Are you saying no to the bets, or the drinking?" Denmark asked.

"Both. Well, the drinking," he confessed. "I don't mind some little bets."

"Bet on who gets seasick!"

"Potato brain. Nobody gets seasick on a big boat like this."

"Ship," Den and Prussia said together.

"Yes, all right, shut the fuck up!"


	123. Insecurity

**Insecurity.**

The next morning when Prussia woke up he jabbed Denmark with his elbow and covered his mouth. Den's eyes flew open, and the albino said, "Shh," very quietly, while jerking his head towards the other bed where Romano still slept. Denmark nodded in understanding and Prussia let go of his mouth, pointing towards the balcony.

They quickly and quietly got out of bed in their sweats and slipped out onto the balcony, closing the door behind them. "Sorry to get you up so early," Prussia said, "but I wanted to talk to you about this."

"What exactly happened? He wouldn't say anything yesterday, just 'shut up about England.'"

"I have no idea! I asked him some question, and he told me to shut up and not mention Arthur's name, and then I asked him if they broke up and he didn't answer. That's really all we talked about before you showed up."

"They've been going out for such a long time. I wonder what could have happened after all this time."

Prussia leaned against the railing and looked out at the sunrise. "It's pretty out here," he said, before returning to the discussion. "I can't even think of anything. You know Arthur would never do anything to risk their relationship."

"Well, _he_ will never tell. He's a gentleman, and gentlemen do not kiss and tell." Den nodded sagely. "Maybe it's just a little spat. Maybe England started angling for an invitation to join us and Romano got fed up with him begging."

"Maybe. I hope they make up soon. I don't want to keep pussyfooting around the discussion, you know?" Prussia took Denmark's hand. "Don't piss me off, Den. I don't want to break up with you."

Denmark ruffled his hair. "Don't worry about that, Teutonic Knights. Let's go back inside and sleep a little more." He yawned.

"You can sleep, kesesese! I have to do my pushups!"

"Do them quietly. If you wake Romano up he'll kill you."

"Yes, all right," Prussia laughed, opening the door again. "Maybe I'll do them on deck. Get some more sleep."

…

The ship docked in Stockholm and the three friends disembarked. "It's cold here," Romano said, hunching further into his coat. "Wish I had a hat."

Before anyone could answer, they heard a loud "Ha ha! Dudes! Great to see you all!"

"America?" they asked in unison. "What the hell are you doing here, bastard?" Romano added.

"Totally came to find you, man! I was talking to Iggy last week and he said you dumped him, so I thought I'd find you and see if you wanted to go out with me!"

Denmark and Prussia froze.

And Romano shrugged. "Sure, bastard, why the hell not?"

His friends looked at each other with their eyebrows as high as they could go. "Excuse us a minute," Den said, grabbing the albino's arm and dragging him out of earshot.

"What the hell?" Prussia asked.

"Don't ask me. But listen. I'm still pissed at America for that dumb date business at the Japan meeting. I don't want to spend the day hanging around him!"

Prussia agreed. "I'm still pissed at him for trying to take you away from me! But I'm also worried about Romano. I really wish we knew what happened with Arthur. I can't believe he'd so casually agree to a date with America. Something must have really, really gone wrong."

"You know Romano won't tell us unless we get him drunk."

"Yeah, and he said no drinking. Damn. Well, if he really wants to go off with America today, I guess we can't stop him."

"Yeah. Let's go tell them we'll go sightsee by ourselves."

They hurried back to the other two nations, but before they could say anything, Romano flapped a hand at them dismissively. "We're going to go do touristy shit on our own," he said, "so I'll just meet you here before the ship leaves. All right, bastards?"

"Uh – yeah – all right, I guess," Prussia stammered. "H-have a good day."

"We will, man!" America grabbed Romano's hand and the two of them scurried off.

"I – uh – I almost don't want to bother seeing Stockholm now," Denmark confessed, in a daze. "I want to find out just what the hell's going on."

"Yeah, me too, but…we never will. If we tail them and Romano catches us, we're dead. Come on; let's go see some awesome Swedish sights. Maybe we can get it out of him later."

"All right."

…

"Dude, I don't know what you did to Iggy, but he totally looks like shit! He's probably twenty pounds lighter, and he was acting really weak and lame. It's hilarious! I'm so glad you two finally broke up. I've wanted to go out with you for a long time." Squeezing his hand, America beamed down at Romano, who was lost in thought.

England looked like shit? Weak and thin? Romano cleared his throat. Hah, served the fucker right. Maybe he'd die. "Uh – uh – so how did you find out where I was?" he asked in a rush, just to make conversation. He pulled his hand away from America's and stuck it in his coat pocket.

"You guys were awesomely talking about it at some meeting; I don't remember when. Oh, yeah! It was at the water park for Denmark's birthday. I really have wanted to go out with you for a while. I'm so glad you said yes. Want to go back to the ship?"

Romano was still thinking about a weakened, sick England, and this question didn't process right away. "Wh-what? What the hell for? I thought we were going to do some sightseeing, bastard?"

"Aw, Romano, can't you stop calling me 'bastard'? I know you call everybody else that, but it's kind of rude to call your new boyfriend that."

 _New boyfriend_? Romano panicked. He thought this was just a sightseeing date! "I call everybody bastard, you idiot. If you don't like it, leave," he muttered. _England_ never had a problem being called 'bastard.'

Shit, he needed to stop thinking about the island fucker. All right. So America was his new boyfriend. Might as well roll with it. At least he was good-looking.

"Aw! Man, that's so harsh. You could call me 'hero'?"

Romano snorted. "No, I couldn't. Anyway, what the hell do you want to go back to the ship for?"

America leaned down to whisper conspiratorially into his ear. "So we can fool around, dude! Prussia and Denmark will be gone all day, so we could have the whole room to ourselves!"

"Cabin," Romano responded automatically, before he really understood what America had said. Then: _"What?"_

"Dude, you're the hottest nation in Europe."

Yeah, England had told him that more than once. So had Spain. Cheh. Of course he was. "So?"

"So, come on! I never get to fool around with anybody any more. Austria was so uptight about that stuff, and Japan – well, Japan – uh – " America's voice stumbled to a halt.

Romano felt like his brain had frozen. Just what the fuck had he gotten himself into today? America just wanted to sleep with him? "Is that all I am to you, bastard? An easy lay?"

"Hey, man," America grinned, "I didn't think you'd be _easy,_ but if you are, that's great. Come on; we're wasting time!" He grabbed Romano's hand and started to pull him back towards the ship.

" _Chigi!_ Let go of me, you dumbass. Let _go!_ " He yanked his hand away. "Have you lost what little mind you actually had?"

"What are you talking about?" America really did look completely clueless.

"I – I'm not ready for a new boyfriend yet." No shit. "And I don't just hop into the sack with someone, you know. Haven't you ever heard of seduction?"

"Babe," America grinned, swooping in for a dramatic kiss.

Romano was too startled to push him away, and then he allowed himself to kiss back. America wasn't such a good kisser, he thought. Maybe he needed some kissing less—"Fuck!" he yelled, as the hero tried to shove his tongue into his mouth. "Bastard, what the fuck?" He wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

"Just trying to seduce you, Romano!" America gave him a thumbs-up and toothy grin. "Did I do all right?"

"I – I – I have a headache," the half-nation stammered, unable to come up with any more graceful way to get out of this. "I need to go lie down. Alone."

"Aw, nuts. Do you think you'll feel better later on? I have to head back home when the boat departs."

"Ship," Romano corrected. "Uh, probably not. It's a migraine. These kinds of headaches last a few days for me," he invented wildly. "I'll – I'll talk to you at the next meeting?" Dammit, this was all happening too fast.

"Shit, well, all right," America grumbled, kicking the curb. "At least let me walk you back to the ship, heroically make sure you get there safely."

"Yeah, okay." If that was the price Romano needed to pay for a day alone, he'd do it, dammit. By now he didn't give a flying fuck about sightseeing or anything else.

They walked back without speaking much. America tried to reach for Romano's hand once or twice, but the brunet kept both hands firmly stuffed into his coat pockets. His brain was whirling so fast that he couldn't settle on any thoughts, couldn't focus on America's halfhearted attempts at conversation.

When they reached the gangplank he interrupted the heroic nation's farewells. "I – I'll talk to you later, bastard," he mumbled.

"Remember, no calling me 'bastard'!" America said cheerfully, bending down to peck a kiss on his cheek. "Rest up. Call me when you get back to Italy, all right?"

Romano, completely at a loss, simply nodded and walked up the gangplank, waving without looking back.

Dammit.

…

"Hey, we were worried about you. Thought you were going to meet us on the dock. I'm glad you're in here. We panicked." Denmark wondered just what the hell had happened today. Romano's eyes were very red and he was lying on the bed.

"Uh. Yeah. Where's the albino potato?"

"Stopped off to get some snacks. Did you and America have a good day?"

"No." Romano rolled over and shoved his face into his pillow. "He's an ass."

"Do you want to talk to me about what happened with England?" Denmark made his voice very polite and calm. "I won't tell Prussia if you don't want me to. I'm worried about you."

"I don't want to talk about it yet" came floating up from the pillow.

"Well, okay, but if you change your mind, let me know."

"Yeah."

…

When the ship got to Helsinki, the purser delivered a vase of red hothouse roses to their cabin. "Name of Vargas?" he asked.

"Th-that's me," Romano stammered, blushing and taking the vase. Prussia slipped the man a little tip from his casino money – he still had a ton of it! – and closed the door behind him.

"Who are they awesomely from?" he asked nosily, coming to peer over Romano's shoulder.

"America, dammit." Romano crumpled the card in his fist and flung it at the trash can.

"Nice roses, though." Den came over and sniffed them. "Put them over by the window; the sunlight will make them glow."

"Very artistic idea, Denmark!" Prussia beamed at him and moved the vase to the table near the window, since Romano was still staring at the card in the trash can. "There." He turned back to Romano. "So, you and America are dating now?" he asked, trying not to sound too intrusive. Maybe he could get some real information now. And he was going to retrieve that gift card from the trash can as soon as Romano's back was turned! "Better be careful of him. There must be some real reason he can't keep a boyfriend."

"Shut up, albino potato," Romano said weakly, almost automatically, still staring at the card.

The brunet didn't look so good. He'd accompanied his friends to all their meals, but hadn't been eating much, just picking at the food on his plate, and he hadn't been speaking much, either. Prussia was perturbed about this. Yes, he desperately wanted to know what had happened with Arthur, because he was nosy, but he was also worried about Romano. Rebounding into a relationship with anyone – let alone America – was not a sensible thing to do.

He sighed. He was just happy he and Den hadn't broken up. "Come on. Let's go, or we'll end up sitting around the cabin all day."

"Come on, Romano," Den laughed, picking him up and carrying him to the door.

"Put me down, bastard. I can walk."

"Well, then, walk! Come on." Prussia poked him and they all went out the door.

…

After dinner, the three friends lay around the cabin, chatting of this and that, and the cabin's telephone rang. Romano jumped a little, his eyes wide and on the phone, but Prussia, nearest, answered it. "Awesome Prussia speaking…Yeah, he's here. Sure. Hold on." He reached the telephone towards Romano.

Should he take it? What if it was Eng—"It's America," Prussia said, and Romano sighed, taking the phone.

"Hello, bastard," he said.

"Romano! I thought you weren't going to say that anymore?"

"That was your idea, stupid. I'll call you what I want to call you. Why are you calling me?"

"Just checking in. Iggy totally shit bricks when I told him we were dating! He said if I hurt you he'd kill me. Ha ha ha, that old man is so funny. As if he could hurt _me_ anymore."

Romano didn't say anything.

"Romano? You all right?"

"Ah, not really, bastard. Still in a little pain. Listen, don't call me on the ship any more, all right? I – uh – I don't want to disturb these other bastards."

"Oh. Yeah, all right. Uh, tell them I said hi? I can't wait to see you again, Romano. Take care of yourself. Love you!"

 _Love you?_ He panicked again. "Uh – uh – yeah. 'Bye." He hung up, cradling the telephone on his chest and staring at nothing. 'Love you'! What an idiot. He snorted.

Prussia leaned over and took the telephone from his unresisting fingers, but Den spoke first. "Sounds like America's got it bad."

"Kesesese! Well, you have to admit Romano is pretty hot."

"Cheh." But he still couldn't believe America had said 'Love you.' It had taken him and England nearly two years to say those words to each other. Just a few months ago. Romano got a little misty-eyed, thinking back to that day of America's independence celebration, when he had stayed in London and taken such sweet care of his – his _backstabbing bastard of an ex-boyfriend_. "Dammit." He punched the bed.

"Hey, let's go to the ship's casino," Prussia suggested. "It's early yet. If we set a limit – nobody bets more than a hundred Euros – we should be all right!"

"Whoever loses the most has to buy the drinks next time we go out at home," Denmark agreed.

"Cheh, sure, why the fuck not." They got off their beds and headed to the casino. Romano could worry about this boyfriend shit later on.

…


	124. Is He Really Worth It?

**Is He Really Worth It?**

"Fuck!" Estonia yelled. Normally, he was not such a vulgar nation, but he was – _totally fed up_ with the way all these bad dates had been progressing. And it seemed the last few problems had been all his fault. He couldn't believe he'd called out America's name in his sleep. How childish!

Estonia almost deleted the spreadsheet and gave up on the project.

But he wasn't a quitter. He wondered whether he could fix things with Canada, because they really had had such a wonderful day together, but concluded that even if he worked overtime to soften the younger twin, he'd possibly just do the same thing again next time they were asleep together. Damn.

He took his coffee over and looked at the spreadsheet. China was next. Should he ask China for a date? Give up? Or…you know…

An obsessive thought began to take shape in his mind. Canada had said America and Japan were not dating.

And it was America's name he'd called out in his sleep.

Damn it, he was going to ask America for a date, and be done with it. He knew in his heart that's what he'd really wanted all along, but the older twin had been dating Austria at the time. But if America was free, he had his chance, and – and even if he messed up, he could at least fill in the hole in the spreadsheet.

Sadly, he marked an X next to Canada's name and finished his coffee, mulling over this idea. Well, he had plenty of other things to do, so he'd let the idea percolate for a while. Denmark and his friends were on a cruise which would be stopping at Tallinn on Thursday, and he'd offered to show them around his city on a sightseeing tour. He was really proud of his home, and pleased that some nations were coming to visit.

Estonia had been knitting them each a sweater. Denmark's was red and black, Prussia's was blue and white, and in a strange burst of romance he'd made Romano's green, and as close to amber as he could find in his yarns. Estonia felt that Romano and England really made a wonderful couple. Each of them was rude to everyone else, but when they were together, they seemed to take great care of each other and understand each other. Certainly he never saw Romano smile except when he was with the island nation. Estonia liked that. That's kind of what he was hoping to find for himself. So he'd chosen colors for Romano's sweater that represented that bond between the two of them.

He spent a few moments contemplating the design of a red, white and blue sweater.

The Denmark and Romano sweaters were all done, so he sat to put the finishing touches on the Prussia sweater and thought about his plan for America.

…

On Wednesday he decided to call America and see if he was free this weekend. That would make a nice payback for his tour guide thing on Thursday. He picked up the phone, slightly nervous, and called.

"Hey! You've reached the land of the free, the home of the brave! What can I do ya for?"

"H-hi, America. This is Estonia calling."

"Estonia, hey, man, how are you?" America sounded very hearty. Maybe he'd just been working out.

"Ahem. I'm fine, thank you." He decided to just plunge forward and ask. They could make small talk later. "I heard from – from Canada that you're not dating anyone, and I wondered whether you'd like to go out with me this weekend." He held his breath. That hadn't been too difficult!

"Aw, man, Matt's so out of the loop. I'm totally dating Romano now!"

 _Romano?_ Estonia felt dizzy. "Romano?" he clarified.

"Yep! He finally broke up with Iggy, so I snapped him up. Completely sexy. He's on a cruise with his other friends right now, so we can't hang out, but we're totally dating. England's so pissed off, ha ha ha!"

Whoa. Estonia tried to focus on the discussion. "Uh, well, all right, then, America. Thanks for telling me."

"Hey, it's no big secret, man. At the next meeting I'm going to flaunt it in everyone's face. Ha ha ha!"

"Okay, well, have fun," he replied weakly. "Talk to you later."

"You bet! See ya." The loud blond slammed down the phone; Estonia replaced his in its cradle more sedately.

He didn't know where to start. Well, he could change the spreadsheet, at least. He padded over to the desk in his bare feet and finished a cold cup of coffee that had been sitting there for a while.

Somehow Estonia could not make himself change the "Available" columns for England and Romano yet. What the hell was Romano thinking?

Well, that wasn't really a fair thought. Apparently he wanted America just as much as Estonia did. He sighed.

He rose to pack up the sweaters for tomorrow and suddenly realized his Romano sweater would be a hopeless gaffe, if he and England had broken up. Well, too bad. He didn't have time to knit a different one, and he couldn't swap it to Prussia or Denmark because the Romano one wouldn't fit anyone else. Damn. Well, the brunet would just have to deal with it. Maybe he wouldn't realize the symbolism.

Estonia was very conflicted about America at this point. He still liked him – that nation was fun and exciting – but combining his recent love life activity with his obliviousness made the Baltic nation wonder if he was such a good bet. If America and Romano broke up – and knowing how short the Italian's temper was around people who irritated him, he suspected they would – would Estonia still want to date America? He was no longer sure.

To amuse himself, and possibly to help him straighten out his thoughts about America, he sat down and made a list of all the nations that he _knew_ that nation had dated recently.

Canada had said he'd dated Japan last year. Start with that.

 _Japan._

He'd dated Austria right up until this project of Estonia's had started.

 _Austria._

Japan sat on his lap at the Hungary meeting.

 _Japan again (possibly fake)_

But then he was with Switzerland that night when Estonia and Belarus had gone to McDonald's. _Switzerland!_ That was another insane match; well, it hadn't lasted long.

 _Switzerland_

And now he was allegedly dating Romano.

 _Romano_

Well, not really "allegedly," since America had said it himself.

So, four different nations, over the course of the year; it was now October.

Ah! Something Estonia had completely failed to consider, at this point, was that he himself might end up as one of America's love-em-and-leave-em castoffs. Surely Switzerland hadn't had a very long run of it. Th-that would be almost worse than not dating him at all.

Sighing, Estonia quickly changed the Romano and England columns, trying not to think about it too much, and went to bed. He had a long day planned for tomorrow.

…

"Hey, Estonia!" Prussia jumped up and down, waving, and Denmark had a beaming smile on his face, too. That was nice. He always felt close to the Nordic nations.

But Romano looked terrible _._ He had big dark circles under his eyes, and he was scowling, though he always scowled. Estonia was glad he'd learned of the breakup with England ahead of time, because now he wouldn't say anything to inadvertently irritate the Italian.

"Hi," he said, smiling and shaking hands with all of them. "I'm glad you came to my city. I have a great tour planned, with some stops at excellent restaurants."

"Kesesese! With good beer, I hope."

"Shut up, albino potato." Romano kicked a fire hydrant.

"P-please," Estonia said, trying to calm him down, and Denmark burst out laughing.

"Listen, it's all right," he said, clapping the host on the shoulder. "They're always like this. Just let them be, all right? What's in the bag?"

Oh. "Our mills have a new process for producing self-striping wool," he explained, "so to showcase it I made each of you a sweater. Do you want to take the bag to the cruise ship now, or wait?"

"I don't want to waste time going back to the ship," Prussia said. "I'll carry the bag." He took it from Estonia and made a sweeping gesture. "Lead on, mine host," he laughed.

"Idiot."

Estonia nervously scurried to the front of the group and hailed a tour bus so that they could begin their tour of Tallinn.

…

Estonia furiously wanted to understand about America and Romano. The Italian did not look like a man happy in his relationship. He seemed even more short-tempered than usual, and both Prussia and Denmark were taking care to be very sweet to him, as if they were afraid he'd explode. Estonia didn't quite know how to behave around them. Maybe Romano was just angry because he couldn't spend time with America?

During their tour of Toompea Castle he found himself walking with the brunet, while Prussia and Denmark paced ahead. Romano looked quite sullen and kicked a pebble along in front of him in the parking lot.

"I'm surprised that you're friends with these two. I hadn't considered that you had much interaction with the northern nations, but it's nice to see it," he offered, hoping to soften his guest. Of course England was a northern nation, too.

"Th-thanks," Romano said. "They irritate the hell out of me sometimes, but – but they're my friends. I can _rely_ on _them,_ " he snapped.

Estonia hastily shut up; they walked on together. Did he mean there was someone else he couldn't rely on? The Baltic nation was intensely curious. Ah, maybe he just meant his vacant brother, or Germany. Everyone knew how much Romano hated Germany. Everyone except Germany himself, it seemed.

When they caught up to the others, Romano scurried to Denmark's side, leaving Estonia with Prussia. He hoped he could deal with all that enthusiasm.

But it wasn't too bad. They completed their walk around Toompea and headed towards the Old Town.

Over lunch, Denmark complimented him on the preservation of the old town. "I feel so nostalgic," he added.

"Kesesese! This town awesomely used to be Den's, and then I bought it from him." Prussia poked Romano and then put his chin in his hand, sighing and fluttering his eyelashes at Denmark. "He didn't charge me an arm and a leg, either."

Denmark elbowed him and they laughed together. "But you're doing a great job, Estonia," Denmark repeated. "I'm pleased to see how nice Tallinn looks."

"I'm pleased that you can call it 'Tallinn,'" Estonia countered with a grin, pushing his glasses up his nose. "I thought you'd always consider it Lyndanisse."

"We have to adapt to the times," Denmark pointed out.

"There's so much shit I don't know." Romano continued to look surly.

"But now you'll awesomely need to learn about America, right?" Prussia asked brightly, poking him.

"Shut the fuck up."

Wow. Romano was not happy. Maybe he was regretting breaking up with England. "America's a heartless blabbermouth," Estonia blurted out, earning nods from Prussia and Denmark and no response at all from Romano. Whoops.

But it was true. Even though Estonia liked him, it didn't mean America was the picture of politeness. To cover the awkward silence, he suggested they head towards Kadriorg Palace after lunch, and the others agreed.

…

At the end of the day Estonia escorted the three nations back to the dock. "I hope you've enjoyed your day," he said, shaking Denmark's hand.

Prussia grabbed him for a hug, squeezing tightly. "I did! It was awesome. We should come back sometime with Ar—uh, when we have more time to spend, right, guys?"

"I don't mind," Denmark said, ruffling Prussia's hair. "Thanks for taking the time to show us around. It means a lot more that way, instead of us having to bumble around figuring out what to do."

Romano shook Estonia's hand politely. "Thanks, bastard. It is a nice place. I think the albino potato is right. We should come back and spend more time."

"Just let me know! I'm always happy to spend time showing off my home," Estonia replied, pushing his glasses up his nose. "I'll see you at the next meeting? It's in Paris, right?"

"Yeah. See ya!" Denmark ruffled his hair, too, and the three of them headed up the gangway.

…

At home, Estonia sat to relax with a plate of buttered rye toast and some milk. He needed this soothing snack right now. His feet hurt, but he'd enjoyed going around to all the notable places in Tallinn with the other nations. Somehow he got a different perspective when he was showing it off.

He had no idea what was going on with Romano and America, but at this point he decided he didn't even care. He'd consider America off his list for a while, no matter whether he was dating someone else or not. China was next on the spreadsheet, and the next meeting was coming up in Paris, so he'd ask China for a date, while they were there.

Estonia spent a few moments contemplating the joy of Chinese food, the very different culture. This could be fun!


	125. Foreign Relations

**Foreign Relations.**

Prussia and Denmark were growing increasingly worried. The cruise as a vacation had certainly gotten better, which was good. Romano had perked up and participated calmly during their sightseeing tours of St. Petersburg and Tallinn. In the latter city, Estonia had been a cheerful and competent tour guide, and they'd learned a lot about his country. Prussia was glad they'd stopped there and spent the day with him. The three of them planned to come back to visit at some point when they had more than just one day to spend. And Prussia's awesome souvenir spoon collection was growing a lot! He'd have to ask West if he could display them somewhere in the house, instead of just putting them in a drawer. Maybe in a big glass-topped table in the middle of the living room, so everyone would be able to admire them easily when they came for visits.

Otherwise, though, things had gotten even worse.

Every morning, Romano got a vase of flowers. He would read the card, dump the entire contents of the vase overboard, and then pitch the crumpled card after it, cursing in Italian. (He was accumulating quite a collection of empty vases in the corner of the cabin; Prussia planned to ask for a few of them at the end of the trip.) His friends had both lectured him about littering, but all he'd said was, "Cards are just paper, bastards. They'll decompose."

And every night, America called Romano on the ship's phone. Every night, Prussia and Denmark listened to their friend snap out a few angry sentences, then end with "Don't call me anymore, all right, bastard?" before slamming down the phone. And so every night they left him sulking in his bed while they went out on the balcony for a hasty whispered conference, disguised as making out.

Well. They did make out a little, too. No sense wasting the opportunity, kesesese.

After America's brief phone call tonight, Prussia sat and bounced on his bed. "The awesome Berlin tomorrow! Kesesese! Are you all geared up for it, Romano?"

"I've seen your stupid city enough times by now. I don't need to sightsee there."

The albino flipped through muted channels before handing Denmark a cupcake from a box; Den handed him a bottle of beer in exchange. "But West's going to take us to all his impressive military sights. I bet you haven't seen them all yet."

Romano groaned. "Bastards. You really think I want to waste a whole day looking at the stupid potato bastard's tributes to his own military prowess? Chigi!" He rolled over and faced the wall.

"You know you love his military prowess."

The brunet didn't respond to that, but Denmark laughed. "Oh, come on. When will you have another opportunity like this?"

"When would I _want_ one?"

"Besides," Prussia said, "maybe America will show up to surprise you!"

Romano turned on the bed again and stuck his head under the pillow, groaning.

"I'm going to take us to my favorite little beer garden, too," Prussia added. "Great Bratwurst and pretzels, and of course the awesome beer. You've never been to that one, either of you." He burped and raised his bottle in a toast to Denmark. "This cruise food is good, but it's no substitute for the basics."

"Shut the fuck up."

"Well, I'm going to wash up and get some rest," Den said, finishing his cupcake. "I'll see you two tomorrow. Do you want the TV on, Prussia?"

"Nah, that's all right. I'll do some exercises." He jumped off his bed and began doing jumping jacks in the space between the beds.

"Dammit, you make me crazy, albino potato."

"That's all right, Romano! You make me crazy sometimes, too."

…

In the morning Prussia got up at his usual hour, but instead of sneaking off to do his pushups elsewhere, he began doing them noisily in the cabin.

"Prussia…" Denmark warned sleepily.

A pillow flew off Romano's bed and hit the albino in the back. "Ow! Romano, not cool. Stop it."

" _You_ stop it, bastard. I'm trying to sleep."

"Look, I'm tired of having to go do pushups on deck! Everybody stares at me. Just let me do them here. There's enough room."

"But I want to sleep, dammit."

"Get up," Den sighed. "You might as well. We can get our German sightseeing out of the way and come back here to sleep early." He got out of the bed and stretched.

Prussia kept doing pushups and counting, and Romano finally groaned, "Forget it. I don't want to see German sights, military or otherwise. I'm going to stay in the cabin all day and get some rest. You bastards go, and leave me alone."

"But Romano!" Prussia whined.

"Never mind," Denmark said hastily. "If he doesn't want to go, and you force him, he's going to be a miserable bastard all day. I don't want to deal with that. Do you? Best just to let him alone."

"Thanks, Den." Romano rolled over again. "Now shut up and go do your fucking potato sightseeing!"

"Kesesese! You don't know what you're missing, but…if you insist."

"I insist, dammit!"

…

Romano had finally managed to get some sleep after the two loud bastards had left. A few hours later he woke up, but stayed in the bed, letting his thoughts wander. He wondered whether America really had shown up to sightsee with them, and laughed a little at the thought of the idiot wandering around Berlin, perplexed, without him.

A soft knock came at the door. Shit, it couldn't be America, could it? No, he wouldn't be allowed on the ship. It was probably just Den or the albino potato coming back for their stupid wallets or something. Romano rolled face-down onto the bed and barked, "Come in." He hoped whichever bastard it was would just get what he needed, and go.

He heard the door open and shut; heard something heavy clump onto the floor. "Well?" he demanded, when the fucker hadn't spoken.

"H-hello, Romano," a hesitant voice said. The voice he loved best in the whole world. He stilled on the bed. Was – was England really there, or was it just a – a hallucination, or something? Was he dreaming? He didn't move, didn't even let himself _breathe_ , in case he missed something, shattered this dream.

A long time passed, during which Romano did not move, and the voice did not speak. "Do you want me to leave?" England finally asked, sadly.

Face pressed into the pillow, Romano shook his head "no," over and over again, now gulping deep breaths. Oh, no. He did not want England to leave.

The blond cleared his throat. "I know you said not to follow you or bother you, but I need to talk to you." He took a deep breath. "A-America told me that the two of you are – are really, ah, oh, bloody hell, he keeps saying you're in l-love with each other. And I. Er. I needed to hear that from you, before I could get – get closure, so I can stop being so miserable and move on."

America said _that?_ Slowly, Romano pushed himself into a sitting position, but kept his back to England. It would be easier to talk without looking at him. "You – you want to move on?" he asked, instead of addressing the question. Dammit!

He felt the bed shift as his friend sat at its foot. Heard England's deep breaths, the wobble in his voice. "I want you to be happy. If you're happy with America, then I'll just apologize for what I did that day, and leave you alone. But – but if you're not –" He wound down.

Romano pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. "I'm not," he blurted out.

They sat in the quiet cabin together, the brunet keeping his back to England, forcing himself to stay calm. He tried to think of something to say, but England spoke first.

"I am more sorry than you will ever know. And I swear to you by – by the l-love I have for you, that I never used magic on you at any time, except the – the cat day, and I never will again. I _swear_ this to you, Italy Romano."

"Oh," Romano said, but his voice broke, and he stopped, and bent down to blot tears away with the hem of the pillowcase. "I – I'm sorry I said those things," he managed. "Every damn day, I –" But he didn't know how to go on. He clenched his fists in his lap.

England's cool hand came to rest lightly between his shoulder blades. "Do you think we – could try again?"

Romano nodded, over and over again, and when England's arms slipped around him in a tentative embrace he sagged against him and took some deep, relieved breaths, feeling those safe, strong arms supporting him. He finally turned to look at his dear friend. "Oh, England, I –"

"Shh," the island nation whispered against his hair. "Just let me hold you for a little while. My arms have missed you so."

"Yes," Romano answered, hugging him tightly, nestling close.

…

When they had calmed down enough to speak normally, Romano gestured towards the suitcase with his chin. "Planning a long stay?"

"Ha. Well, some of that is overnight stuff, because I did hope we'd make up and I could stay." He smiled at Romano and they shared a quick kiss. "But I've been moping around the last few weeks, so I kept doing things to make me think of you." England stared at the ceiling and Romano cuddled closer to stroke his blushing cheek softly with the backs of his fingers. "I knitted all your bloody flag hats, so they're in there, and yesterday I baked some of those asiago cheese and sundried tomato scones; those are in there, and –"

Romano interrupted him with a gentle kiss on the cheek. "I'm a complete ass," he said, nodding. "How could I have panicked that way about you?"

"W-well," England said, a little nervously, "I can see how it would have been frightening and – and weird for you. So there are some other things in that bag."

"What? You're making me nervous now, bastard."

England squeezed his hand with a little smile. Hah. See? It was perfectly fine to call his boyfriend "bastard"! He squeezed back with a grin. "Bastard."

"What?"

"Uh. Nothing." Romano kept grinning. "Go on, tell me about the stuff in the fucking bag, _bastard_." He laughed a little.

"Er, well, I – I thought that, if you wanted, if you thought it would be fair, like, like, revenge or something, I could turn myself into a cat while you stayed human, for a while."

Romano was astonished. "Wha – huh? What's that got to do with the suitcase?"

"Cat treats, and a brush, and toys," England admitted, gritting his teeth and turning red. "And some other goofy things. I – I figured if I was going to turn myself into a cat, maybe I'd at least get a little fun out of it myself."

He looked so awkward that Romano burst out laughing and hugged him again. "It's a deal. Turn yourself into a cat for me, and I'll brush you, and give you treats, and pet you for a while. Then we'll be even."

England smiled sweetly at him, his green eyes sparkling with delight. "You're sure we're all right?"

A soft kiss, fingers running through the scruffy blond hair. "We're more than all right, bastard. We're perfect."

…

"You – do you have to get naked to do this?" Romano wondered. He was still only wearing the boxers he used for sleeping and lounging. Well, no sense changing now.

"No, of course not. Remember? When you woke up you were still dressed."

Oh, yeah. He did remember that.

"But," England said, not meeting his eyes, "I'm going to take off my uniform jacket and belt, all right?"

"Sure, whatever, bastard. Hurry up, though. I'm strangely looking forward to this."

"I'm going to do the spell in the bathroom. I'll be out in a minute." England took something out of the bag and went into the cabin's tiny bathroom.

Romano sat cross-legged on the bed, pulling items out of the suitcase. Here was a hat. He pulled it out and tried it on. Huh. Nice, and that cashmere did feel awesome. Oh, but this one had beads. It must be the albino potato's. The little knitted Gilbird on top was really cute, though. England had done a great job. Very professional.

"Mrow?"

When he heard that, Romano set the hats aside and peeked over the edge of the bed. "Dammit, you're fucking adorable," he grinned, watching the ginger-and-white cat leap onto the bed. England-cat looked at him with a soulful expression, his green eyes luminous under tufty dark eyebrows. Hah; the poor bastard couldn't even escape them as a _cat!_ "You're wearing a collar?" The brunet put out a finger to touch the pet tag around England's neck. Heart-shaped, it had something engraved on it, and the collar was red, white, and green. He leaned closer to read the tag. _I belong to Lovino Vargas,_ he read, and Romano finally let himself cry, sweeping the cat into his arms and hugging it tightly. "I belong to you, too, bastard," he choked out, tears staining the long soft fur. "I never stopped."

"Mee- _yow_!"

Oh. He must be squeezing too tightly. Romano loosened his grip and the cat gave him a funny look before curling up on his lap, laying his head on the smiling, tearful half-nation's knee. Romano reached out one hand and began to stroke his fur, wiping his eyes with the other hand.

For almost a whole hour they played together, Romano dangling cat toys just out of England's reach, watching the tufty white paws bat at the stuffed mice or feather toys, listening to the loud purrs. He tenderly fed his friend cat treats, and petted him, and used the slicker brush to groom him, though the fur was just as difficult to brush as England's hair normally was. "I never had a cat," he said with a laugh. "You should do this more often. Save a fortune on litter boxes."

England-cat bit his hand playfully and rolled onto his back, exposing his white belly, which Romano automatically reached out to stroke. His gaze kept returning to the collar. He wondered whether it would vanish when England turned back into a human. Then he wondered whether he could get a matching one to wear. Only in private, only when they were alone together, but – ah, maybe not. But it would probably get the message across to oblivious America, if he wore it in public. Hah. Maybe he'd do it.

He snorted and pressed his fingers deeper into the soft fur, still stroking England's belly, still feeling the loud and soothing purrs. "I can see why you had so much fun that day," he admitted. "You feel so nice and fluffy. Do you even understand what I'm saying?"

"Meow."

"What the fuck does that mean, cat bastard? You do, or you don't?" But he grabbed a paw and kissed it with a smile.

Eventually the cat curled up next to the pillow and yawned. "Nice fangs," Romano said, lying next to him. "You're making me sleepy. Want to have a nap?"

"Mmrrr…" England purred, patting his nose softly with a big paw.

Romano nestled right up next to the furry body. "I guess you'll turn back in a little while, huh? Well, whatever. You were – are – adorable, bastard, and I'm so happy that you had the balls to come apologize. I – I love you," he stammered; dammit, even saying it to a fucking _cat_ made him nervous. He kissed the cat's head, curling a finger around one outstretched front paw, and they went to sleep together.

…

Prussia and Denmark sneaked up to the cabin door. "Shh," Den whispered.

The albino put his ear to the door but didn't hear anything. "Nothing," he laughed. "I think we're safe."

Denmark unlocked the door and they pushed it open. The two of them peeked in to see Romano and England asleep together, hands intertwined; the blond was shirtless in his uniform trousers with some kind of kinky Italian dog collar on. "Kesesese!" Prussia cheered, unable to control himself.

"Shut up, albino potato! I'm – " But when Romano woke up fully and saw a smiling England in the bed with him, he interrupted himself. "Forget it. Come in, bastards. Join the celebration." He reached out and hugged the island nation with a big, goofy grin.

…

"How the hell did you even get on the ship?" Romano wondered later, as they all sat around the cabin. He was happily cuddled up to England on the bed, sharing a box of caramels after a great reconciliation dinner with their friends.

"Bought a ticket, didn't I? Bloody expensive, too; I had to pay full price for the cruise even though there are only two days left. But it was worth it." England beamed at him and kissed the tip of his nose before feeding him a piece of candy. "Every penny."

"This was all your idea, wasn't it, albino potato? All that military sightseeing bullshit. I really should have guessed. Manipulative bastard."

"Den helped," Prussia admitted. "Awesome strategy, though, am I right?"

"You're right," the other three chorused. "As usual," Denmark added with a grin, hugging him.

"And that's not even the best part. We're staying in Berlin for one more day so you can come see the awesome military sights that you missed!"

 _"Chigi!"_


	126. Staking One's Claim

**Staking One's Claim.**

Out on the ship's balcony, Romano and England snuggled close, watching the bright moonlight on the water. "Thanks again, bastard."

"Mm. Thank _you._ " They shared a kiss. "It feels so right to be back with you."

"Yeah, I know. So much less stressful."

England smiled and stroked his hair, but didn't speak for a while.

"Hey, I wanted to ask you something," Romano said a little later.

"So ask."

"When you were a cat, did you understand the things I said to you?" He felt himself blushing and turned his face to the water.

"Of course I did. I hoped you'd say a lot of nice things, so I paid attention." The blond's voice was amused.

"You remember all of it?" The brunet, still embarrassed, kept his face downturned.

"Every word." England fished in his pants pocket for something. "I have to admit I anticipated part of it."

"Know-it-all bastard. What are you talking about?"

"Stand up straight and face me."

Intrigued, Romano did so, and saw the flash of metal in England's hand. "Wh-what is it?" He reached out for it and saw a collar printed with the Union Jack. Romano didn't need to read the tag to know what it would say. "Oh, bastard, put it on me. You know I belong to you."

"I know," said Arthur Kirkland, fastening the collar around his lover's neck.


	127. A Different Perspective

**A Different Perspective.**

"Ah, Den, thanks for letting me crash here tonight. I didn't feel like heading back to Berlin after all that travel."

"Not a problem." Denmark dumped his suitcases near the stairs and stretched. "What a bizarre cruise."

Prussia agreed. "Well, you have to admit we were awesome, at least as far as Romano and Arthur were concerned. It was hard to talk Arthur into it, though. He kept insisting Romano didn't want to see him."

"Wonder if we'll ever find out just what the hell happened?"

"Probably not." He kicked back on the couch. "You know what? I should just move in with you. It would save us a lot of travel hassle."

"Forget it! I do still have nation work to do, you know. I can't be loafing around with you all day, every day." Denmark plopped down next to him. "I mean, it would be complete fun, but…no."

"Aw. Hey, when's the next meeting?"

"Next week. France's place. Last one of the year."

"Oh, that's cool. I'll go to that one, since it's not far. We need to start talking about Christmas plans."

"Yeah."

After this decision they sat quietly, winding down from the stress of travel for a little while, and then Denmark reached over and took Prussia's hand. That was all that happened, until he leaned his head back on the back of the couch.

Prussia shifted closer and rested his head on Den's broad shoulder. "Glad we don't have any relationship trauma," he said distantly.

"Mm."

In a few minutes Denmark let go of his hand and put his arm around the albino's shoulders. Prussia nestled even closer. He took Den's other hand in his and began playing with his fingers, stroking them, turning his hand over and over. Then he raised it to his lips and kissed each fingertip.

Denmark leaned over and kissed Prussia's hair. "Want to go upstairs?" he asked seductively.

"Yes. Shower first?"

The Dane nodded and stood up.

They walked to the big tiled bathroom without speaking, still holding hands, and then Denmark began to undress Prussia very tenderly, almost as if he were too fragile to handle. Den felt very caring and attentive after all that Romano stress on the boat – _ship_ – and he was going to take his sweet time with Prussia tonight, and make sure that they both felt loved and secure.

When Prussia was standing shirtless before him, Denmark knelt to kiss the scars on the pale skin. "I love your body," he said. "Despite the scars and suffering, you are still so strong, so pure." His hands reached around to trace the scars he knew existed on Prussia's back, as well.

Den felt Prussia's hands slide into his hair softly. "Denmark." It wasn't a question, nor yet a conversational opening – just a soft, solid statement; Prussia was secure in his hands and he knew it.

When he had kissed the last scar he finished undressing his lover and Prussia stood proudly before him, a slight blush on his cheeks, looking at the still-clad Nordic nation. "My turn," he said, with a subtler-than-usual smile, raising Den to a standing position and beginning to undo the buttons on his shirt.

Prussia too took his time examining Denmark's body, caressing more strongly the marks that depicted his suffering over the centuries. "These scars, they prove you, they mark you, my Viking love."

Denmark savored the touch of the pale hands. Prussia was rarely this tender with him. He tipped his head back, closing his eyes, and put his hands on Prussia's shoulders, feeling him step closer.

With his eyes still closed Den raised his head and kissed the albino sweetly at first, a celebration of togetherness. Prussia's body molded to his, and Denmark could feel his skin begin to tingle, as it always did at this type of intimate contact. He wanted more, but the bathroom was hardly the place for –

Oh. Prussia had wanted a shower. _Yeah._ Denmark stretched out a hand and opened the door to the shower enclosure. "Get in, Teutonic Knights," he laughed, shattering the mood entirely. "Now."

"Kesesese!" Prussia stepped into the shower and turned, grinning madly, to reach for Denmark again. He turned on the water – which, as always, flowed cold for a little while, but that didn't bother either of them. "Come on, Den, let me make you feel good. I couldn't stand being on that ship with Romano in the room, and not being able to touch you."

"I know," Denmark laughed, as Prussia sank to his knees under the now-warm water flow. "Though I thought it was fun when we fooled around in the fitness room."

"That was awesome," Prussia agreed, before beginning to pleasure him.


	128. Planning for Christmas

**Planning for Christmas.**

"Well, we could always go on another awesome cruise. Somewhere warm," Prussia said, kicking back in his chair. This meeting was in Paris, and almost everyone had already reached the conference room. But since France hadn't called the meeting to order yet, they were sitting around discussing possibilities for the last vacation, for this awesome year of vacations.

"Sounds all right to me, bastards. I – uh – I'm sorry I was such a pain in the ass on the last one."

"Aw, Romano, we know you love Arthur!"

The brunet put his head in his hands. Dammit. Nothing would ever change with these bozos.

France walked to the head of the room. "Ah, have to shut up now," Denmark grumbled. "Let's talk about it at lunch." The others nodded; England, whose right hand was bandaged, began setting up his laptop.

"Hey, France!" Prussia yelled. "Why aren't you starting this meeting? It's getting late!"

France seemed a bit perturbed. "Well, _mon ami_ , because _Am_ _é_ _rique_ is not here yet! Has anyone seen him?"

Nations began scanning the room for the loud blond. England kept his eyes on his laptop, but raised his voice loud enough to say, artificially, "Oh, America? He won't be joining us for this meeting, Francy-pants."

Most of the nations kept talking, but France, Romano, Denmark and Prussia all looked at the island nation in surprise. Without looking up, and fighting a smirk, he went on, "He's going to be in the hospital for just a _little_ while longer."

"Bastard!" Romano hissed. "You beat him up?"

"I did warn him. Why are you so surprised? From what you told me, he wasn't the world's most attentive boyfriend." England snorted audibly.

"Arthur, you are one badass motherfucker," Prussia said, nodding. "Glad I'm your friend now."

"Not like in the pirate days," Denmark laughed.

"Hah! Forget it! He was badass then, too, but not so friendly. Kesesese!"

Romano was still staring at England in disbelief. "You – you –"

"Shut it, loverboy, and let the frog get the meeting started." England reached under the table and squeezed Romano's hand. Dammit. The bastard _was_ a badass motherfucker! Romano leaned back in his chair and smirked with pride.

" _Bien,_ let's get started," the still-baffled France shrugged, and called the meeting to order.

…

"Right, so, vacation?" Denmark wondered over dinner.

But Prussia and Romano were too busy scoping the hotel restaurant trying to see which nations were together. "Swissy's all alone," Prussia pointed out. "I can't even keep track of those two anymore."

"Shut it, will you? Stop getting involved in other people's love lives, wanker."

But Prussia punched him in the arm. "Kesesese! Are you saying you would rather we'd let you and Romano stew, while he dated America? Huh? Is that what you're saying? Say the words, Arthur, and I'll admit I was totally wrong."

Nobody answered, and England finally sighed. "All right, thank you, Gilbert dear, for meddling in my love life. Now shut the hell up!"

"Yeah, shut up about America, bastard. Let's talk about vacations."

Various cruise destinations were tossed around, including England's suggestion of an Amazon River cruise, which no one else was interested in. (Prussia feared piranha bites.) "How about Alaska?" he asked. "Be cool to see all those glaciers."

"If you recall," Denmark pointed out, elbowing him, "when we were in Seattle we learned they don't have Alaska cruises in the winter. Too cold."

"Cheh. Idiot." But Romano had forgotten that as well. He felt himself turning red and focused on the food.

"That being the case, probably anywhere in a northern destination is un-doable." England drank some tea. "But if we're stuck with southern cruise destinations, that means, the Mediterranean –"

"– which is fucking boring –"

"– or, I don't know, Tahiti, Hawaii or something like that?"

"Hey! Hawaii," Denmark said. "Never been there."

"You know, we don't have to go on a cruise." Prussia peered into his pint glass, which was empty. "We could go somewhere cold, like that time we went to Swissy's place."

"Don't know about that, albino potato. If Swissy's having emotional troubles, we don't want to ask him for any favors."

"True. Well? Where else?"

"Scotland?" Denmark asked, with an arch grin in England's direction.

"Ha bloody ha. No." The blond smacked the table.

Oh, right. Scotland was England's brother. Romano was somewhat curious about that guy, but…not if England said no.

The island nation set his mug down. "Eh, let's not bother with it yet. Are we doing anything after dinner?"

Iceland and Liechtenstein walked in holding hands, and the friends stopped chatting for a few moments to smile at that sight. "Iceland!" Prussia suddenly yelled.

The two lovebirds stopped on their way to a table and crossed to the four friends. "Hi. What?"

"Oh. No, sorry. I mean, hi, and all that, it's awesome to see you two, but…I was talking about something else."

"Christmas vacation at Ice's place?" Den grinned. "Sounds okay to me."

"You will be coming to Iceland for Christmas?" Liechtenstein asked with an excited smile. "So will I!"

Romano fiddled with his wine glass. "Swissy going to be there?"

"Oh, _Bruder_ has not yet made up his mind about what to do for the holidays. But I don't believe he would be going to Iceland."

"We haven't yet decided what to do," Prussia admitted. "Still kicking ideas around."

Iceland beamed at them all. "Well, you would all be more than welcome. My country is beautiful in the wintertime."

"Maybe we will." Denmark patted his little brother fondly on the arm. "Anyway, we didn't mean to keep you from dinner. Have a good one."

"Thanks." The two moved off.

"Well? Are we awesomely going to go to Iceland, where Swissy will most likely not be?"

"Don't know anything about Iceland, bastard. What's there to do?"

"Bugger all," England laughed. "But if we found a good place, like that place we stayed in Interlaken, well, if there were enough amenities in the house, the rest of it wouldn't matter much."

"Nightlife, though," Denmark told them. "They're nuts. Bars stay open until 4:30 in the morning!"

"Good for making bar bets." Prussia whistled and tried to look nonchalant, and England elbowed him with a grimace.

"New Year's is pretty damn dramatic too. Fireworks aren't illegal, so everybody goes nuts."

"I bet that looks nice, though," England agreed, "though I still don't like listening to them. Maybe I'll take earplugs."

"Well, bastards, you know I'm not much for the crazy nightlife. Dancing and shit. What's there to do during the day?"

"Nature stuff, mostly." Prussia got a dreamy look on his face. "Volcanoes –"

"– cheh, I've got them too –"

"– glaciers, hikes, horseback riding –"

"Uh."

"Is that a no, Romano, you nature-loving freak?" Denmark started laughing at him, and Romano kicked him. "Ow."

"Shut the fuck up. What other options are there?"

"You know," Prussia then said, "we haven't really spent a lot of time together at Den's place. I mean, I'm there all the time, but you two almost never come over. And there's a lot of stuff to do, and that way if you hate it, you could get home a little more easily."

"Why would I hate it, albino potato? What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing! Nothing. I mean, I totally love Denmark. Kesesese. The country, too!"

"Wanker."

The albino blew his boyfriend a kiss. "What do you think, Den? Could we find a good resort kind of town in Denmark to visit for the holidays?"

"Sure. I'll look up some stuff to show you when we get back to the room. But – do you guys really want to do that?"

"I – I'd kind of like to," Romano admitted. "We still haven't seen much of your place."

"Wouldn't mind going to the museum at Aalborg. Haven't been there yet," England mused. "I love military museums."

"Hah." Romano poked him. "How come you're so bloodthirsty all of a sudden, Mister Badass Motherfucker?"

"Not all of a sudden, git. It's always there; I just keep it under wraps most of the time."

"Dammit. Remind me not to piss you off."

" _Again,_ " England laughed, and then the rest of them did too.

"Okay. Cool, so…Denmark for Christmas! Now that we got that out of the way…who are we going to prank tonight, kesesese?"


	129. Insufficient Focus

**Insufficient Focus.**

"I don't know about this," England worried. "I mean, pranking any _other_ nation, I'd do it, but…"

"I don't know him well enough. He's not much of a bastard, is he?"

"Not at all!" Prussia flagged down the waiter for some more drinks. "He's pretty nice, if you can get to know him."

"Hah. If only he'd keep his mitts off Hans Island, I'd be happy to hang out with him, but…no."

"So it's agreed, then?" Prussia asked. "I mean, Arthur, you can just go to bed or something if you don't want to be part of the prank. I know he's sort of close to you."

"Thanks a lot. Well, am I going to be able to keep a straight face? I'd rather know just what the hell you gits are planning, so I know how to act."

"I don't even remember what Canada looks like." Romano scanned the room. "What does he look like?"

"He's America's twin! What do you think he looks like, wanker?"

"Kesesese! Maybe he wants to go out with Romano!"

"Shut up," everyone else said. "Seriously, Teutonic Knights, shut up about all that," Den added.

"No shit, albino potato." Romano kicked him under the table.

"Ow. All right, you party poopers. Well, what kind of prank? It's hard to think of something for Canada. He's so unassuming." Prussia drank some of his new beer. They really were a bunch of party poopers. He himself was going to tease America remorselessly about that, next time he saw him. Kesesese!

Denmark smirked a little. "Maybe we should all just make it a point to pay attention to Canada for the rest of the meeting. Maybe it would freak him out."

"Bastard, that's heartless! Not like a real prank. Because what happens when the next meeting rolls around and everyone's ignoring him again? He's too sensitive to treat that way, from what you say."

After Romano had made this point, the Skirmish Brothers reluctantly decided not to bother pranking Canada. "Where's Russia tonight? I haven't seen him since the meeting broke up," the albino wondered.

Romano shuddered. "Don't. Do not tell me we're going to try to pull something on him. That bastard gives me the creeps!"

"I'm not surprised. I had to live at his place for a while, and it was not awesome at all. Brutal, in fact." Prussia put on a pout.

"Eh, forget all that," England suggested. "How about Francy-pants?"

"Did him," the other three sighed.

"What? No, don't even tell me. All right, how about…Spain?"

"Did him too."

The island nation gave them all a funny look. "Just how long have you wankers been going around pranking people? Did you ever prank _me_? You're freaking me out!"

He looked so alarmed that the other three began laughing at him. "Bastard, we never tried to prank you. And believe me, we never will."

"Good."

Den nodded. "Anyway, you and Romano started dating right around the time we all started hanging out together, so…it wouldn't have been very cool to try anything with you."

"Thank you," England said graciously, raising his bottle in a toast.

"Hey, how about your brother?" Den poked Prussia in the shoulder. "You ought to be able to come up with all kinds of stuff to pull on him."

"Yes!" Romano yelled. "Let's prank the fucking potato bastard!"

Hm. "Well, he's rooming with Veneziano, of course. What if we get them both at once?"

An evil grin appeared on Romano's face. "I'm in, bastards. Completely." He nudged England. "You in?"

"Depends what you've got in mind. No matchmaking shite, remember?"

"Dammit. I thought we could break them up."

"You know, that might work! Kesesese, yes, I've got it, I've totally got it. Good thing you and I are both part of this deal, Romano. Come on, listen to me." He beckoned with a finger. The other three leaned forward conspiratorially to listen to Prussia's breakup plan, whispered to them in a flutter of excitement.

"Ha ha ha!" Denmark's laugh rang out so loudly that everyone in the restaurant turned to look at them. "You've got to be joking. There's no way Romano could pretend to be Veneziano, not even for a good prank like this one."

"Bastard! What the hell are you trying to say?"

Den wheezed with laughter. "Look at you. You seriously think you can hide in the bathroom and say sweet nothings to Germany? Even just to fake-break up with him? You can't even get through a whole sentence without cursing." He pinched Romano's cheek, still laughing.

Romano smacked his hand away. "Fucking idiot."

This just made them all laugh a little louder. "Yeah, you're right, Den. Let's come up with something else." Prussia finished his beer.

…

By midnight they were all drunk and had no plan. Romano was leaning against England, smiling goofily at everyone, but not speaking much; England and Prussia had begun arguing over military superiority, and Denmark just kept drinking and grinning at them. He knew who the military might was, at this table. Yes, indeed. You didn't see Prussia or England carrying an axe around! Well, not that he actually had it with him right now, but...theoretically. _Meta-hic-phorically_. Yeah.

"You have to leave the bar," France said, sauntering over somewhat drunkenly with his arm around Spain.

" _Hola,_ Lovi."

Romano completely ignored this, except to take England's hand under the table.

"Why do we have to leave? Hey, man," Prussia said to the drunken Spain.

"The bar is closing! Get out and go back to your rooms. _Merde,_ " France muttered, "I hate hosting meetings."

"Everybody hates hosting meetings, frog-face. We're going. Come on, loverboy," England said to Romano, wrapping an arm around his waist and hoisting him up from the table.

"Yeah, come on, Teutonic Knights. We can finish this damn discussion tomorrow, if anybody really cares."

"Oh, all right," Prussia grumbled, rising.

Romano was so drunk that England had to half-carry him, but still sober enough that he looked back at Spain, giggling at him and giving him the finger.

"Oh, Lovi," Spain sighed.

"Forget it, _mon ami_. Come back to my place," France suggested, stroking Spain's hair.

"Okay!" The two of them weaved erratically out of the bar.

"Bastards."


	130. Learn Your Lessons Well

**Learn Your Lessons Well.**

"I'm not going to the meeting," Romano groaned the next morning, pulling a pillow over his head. "I'm dying."

"Don't die," a more cheerful England said, leaping out of the bed. "But it's all right if you want to stay here. I'll share my notes later."

"Thanks."

He heard England bustle into the bathroom, whistling that stupid "Land of Hope and Glory," which hurt Romano's head, but he was too hung over to bother complaining.

Eventually the island nation was ready to go. He sat on the bed and gave Romano a soft kiss on the forehead, stroking his cheek. "You were awesome last night, little kitten," he murmured with a smile. " _Very_ sexy."

"Meow," the sleepy brunet grinned, burrowing under the covers.

…

When he woke up for real, he felt a lot better, except for a full bladder, a monumental thirst, and the remains of a headache. Romano took care of all that – hm, those were his last two aspirins; he'd need to get more later, in case he got bombed again tonight, hah – and treated himself to a long, hot shower.

That definitely helped. He was quite optimistic as he bustled around the hotel room getting dressed. It was kind of cold today, so he planned to wear a new sweater.

He pulled it out of the dresser. This striped, cozy sweater had been a gift from Estonia while on their cruise. The Baltic nation had given Den a black and red one, and the albino potato a blue and white one. They were really nice and cushy, though not as soft as the one England had knit him.

It hadn't really registered with Romano before, but now, looking at it, he saw that it was striped in amber and green. The same color as his eyes and England's. Had Estonia done this on purpose?

But no. Romano had "broken up" with England long before the cruise. Why would Estonia – oh, well, maybe he hadn't understood about the breakup, yet, at that point.

Pulling the sweater on, he thought about some of Estonia's comments that day. And there were two comments he remembered the Baltic nation making that hadn't made any sense at the time. One was that America was a heartless blabbermouth, and the other was that Estonia had always appreciated how close Romano was to the northern nations. At the time he supposed that had meant Den, and even Prussia, but maybe he'd meant England, too?

Romano ran his hands over the sweater. Maybe Estonia had been subtly trying to push him back together with England. Huh. Maybe he'd buy the Baltic nation a drink, for that.

Well, it was too late to go to the meeting; soon they'd be breaking for lunch. Romano decided to do some internet research to prepare for their trip to Denmark. He booted up his new tablet and began to browse.

…

"Bastards, I've been thinking about it, and I know I can pretend to be Veneziano. I really want to pull that prank."

"You're serious? All right, get through the rest of lunch without any swearing. And – and speak in a voice like his, too. As a test." Denmark laughed. "Bet you can't."

"Not taking that bet," Romano said, in a Veneziano-ish voice.

"Hey! That was awesome, you sounded just like him!"

"You have to do your part, too, al-, uh, Prussia," Romano said cheerfully. But he couldn't keep the smirk off his face.

"Bollocks. You're giving me the creeps."

Prussia poked Romano in the arm. "Don't forget to put a few 've's' in there. Germany will never believe it's Veneziano, if you don't."

" _Veeee~_ ," Romano said, and then grimaced. "Dam—oh, Prussia, _ve_ , Prussia!" He raised his eyebrows, seeking approval.

The others all laughed at him. "Right! Well, after dinner tonight we can awesomely try it, as long as we can figure out where they are. What restaurant, or whatever. We'll have to all head upstairs at the same time."

"Okay. So we know the bloody plan? I'm going to help," England decided. "This sounds like fun, and I don't want to miss it."

"Right. You go with Teutonic Knights, and I'll go with Romano." Denmark finished his lunch and pushed the plate away. "These snails sucked."

"Don't order them, then! Uh, _ve_ ," Romano appended hastily, making his friends laugh.

"That's a nice sweater," England now said to him. "I – er – I hope you're not letting other nations knit you sweaters. I kind of considered that my own special privilege."

"Kesesese! Estonia gave us each one, while we were on the cruise."

"Oh! I've been reading about that yarn, but haven't ever worked with it." England petted Romano's arm. "Feels warm. Estonia's beginning to be very well-known for this stuff."

"That reminds me – _ve_ – I want to buy him a drink. Is he here?"

They all looked for Estonia, who was not there.

"Well, no probs, Romano, you can get him one later. At dinner or whatever."

"Sounds good. Okay. Do you think I managed to sound all right, _ve_?" Romano kept shaking his head, frowning and grimacing, but he did sound just like Veneziano.

"Awesomely all right. Those two are going to be in such terrible trouble! Kesesese!"

…

The friends easily talked Germany and Veneziano into joining them in town for dinner. England's duty was to ensure that Veneziano drank a lot. Didn't matter if it was alcoholic or not; they wanted to force him into a men's room somewhere before he got to his hotel room. Denmark's duty was to keep Germany conversationally occupied so he didn't notice what was going on with Veneziano. Romano and Prussia would play their parts later.

Together the six nations stumbled back to the hotel; it was a cold night and felt like rain, or maybe even snow. "Kesesese! I love wintertime."

Apparently England had done an attentive job; Veneziano was walking funny, and quickly. "Ve. I heard you all are going to Denmark for Christmas! That should be fun."

"That reminds me, bastards, I did some research today of stuff I want to go see and do."

"Awesome! Den, we have to take them to Legoland."

"Chigi! I'm not going to any fucking kids' park."

"Ve, but Romano, it always sounds like a very fun place to go! You should do it."

"We _should_ do it," England agreed. "I'd like to see how the original one in Denmark compares to the one in Windsor."

"You – you've _been_ to Legoland, bastard?" Romano asked in disbelief.

"Of course I have. I like Pirate Falls. It's one of those log flume rides that you two like so much," he said to Germany and Veneziano.

"Ve, maybe we should go to Windsor one of these days, Germany. It would be different to go to Legoland, instead of a regular amusement park."

"I don't mind at all, Italy." Germany beamed at his shorter friend.

" _Chigi,_ " Romano muttered again, just quiet enough that everyone could pretend not to hear him.

"No, I have a great idea," Prussia then said. "We can go to all the Legolands and rank them! That can be our project for next year."

"Absolutely not. I've had a fucking miserable year running around with you wackos, and next year is going to be all about me and England. Alone."

"What do you mean 'alone,' git?"

"Uh. I meant alone together, not with these bastards or anybody else."

"That's all right with me." England blew him a kiss.

They'd reached the hotel by now. "Ve. I really, really need the rest room," Veneziano complained. "You go up, Germany. I'll use the one in the lobby and meet you upstairs."

"Ah, I might as well stop down here as well," Germany said. Catching each other's eyes, the four friends followed them into the lobby men's room.

Denmark and Germany finished first and left the room. Romano followed at a distance.

…

"Ve? Where's Germany? Oh, I guess he went upstairs?"

"Well, you know, Veneziano, I heard him saying last week that he was thinking of breaking up with you. Not awesome, I know, but…maybe he just went off to get away from you."

England pressed his hands into his eye sockets. Gilbert was the stupidest, least subtle prankster that ever –

"Oh, Prussia, ve! Are you serious? Oh, that's so sad!" Veneziano burst into tears, covering his face, and Prussia's crimson eyes flicked to England. The albino put his arm around North Italy.

"Don't cry. Come on, let's go have a drink in the bar and talk about this."

England shrugged. Maybe subtle wouldn't work on Veneziano.

Seated in the bar area, Veneziano simply continued to wail 've' and rub his eyes. Prussia put an arm around him and held him close, while England was in charge of obtaining drinks and snacks. He did this and hurried back to the table, where nothing had changed. "Prussia, ve, Prussia," the auburn-haired nation wailed, sounding just like Romano had at lunchtime.

"Have a drink," England said, hastily pushing a martini towards the younger nation. He really did not want to listen to this whining all night.

"Ve. I don't want a drink. Oh, Germany, ve, Germany," he wailed to his absent boyfriend.

Russia stopped by the table. "Germany giving you trouble? I can take care of him for you, da?" He smiled and brandished his water pipe threateningly.

"It's all r-right," Prussia stammered. "We have it under control."

"Whatever you say, Prussia." Russia sauntered away, still grinning.

"Bollocks." England sought for something to make Veneziano stop crying. "I wonder if Germany's all right."

Whoops. That may not have been a wise comment. Veneziano cried louder. "Oh, Germany needs me to make his hot water bottle for him every night! Oh, ve, no, this is all so sad!"

"Calm down," Prussia told him. "Drink your drink." He held the martini to Veneziano's lips, and he drank.

"Ve, thank you, Prussia. You've always been so good to me." He looked at the albino with misty eyes, and then turned to the blond. "But – but England, ve, why aren't you with Romano? Did you two break up again?"

"Er. No. I – I just thought you needed looking after? Romano will understand." Hah. Bloody hell, why did he get involved in this? He was already ready to leave the room. And what if Veneziano asked where Romano actually _was?_ What would they say? They hadn't planned this very well at all.

"Ve, I hope so."

England rolled his eyes at Prussia, who barely refrained from snickering aloud. The island nation sighed and began to sip his ale, wondering how Den and Romano were faring with Germany.

…

"Here you go," Denmark whispered to Romano. "England picked your brother's pocket in the men's room."

They stood in the hall outside Germany and Veneziano's room; Romano took the key card and then took a deep, deep breath. "Will you come hide in the bathroom with me? I'm – I'm kind of scared now. If he finds out it's me, and not my idiot brother – "

"Sure. Just keep the door shut enough that he can't see inside."

"Okay. I'm going to go in and slip right into the bathroom. Stay right behind me."

"Got it, chief," Den said, making his companion snarl.

They made it without Germany seeing them, although he must have heard them, because he said, "Italy? Is that you?"

Romano cleared his throat. "It's me, Germany," he said, and Den mouthed "ve" so he quickly said, "Uh, ve."

"Are you all right? You seemed to be in the rest room for a very long time."

"I, I need to stay in the bathroom for a little while yet, ve." Romano rolled his eyes. Denmark began giggling silently, because Veneziano was going to get a very weird reputation after tonight. "I'm not, ve, feeling well."

"Is there anything I can bring you?" Germany's voice was much closer to the door.

"No thank you, ve."

Romano waited until the potato bastard's footsteps had retreated. "You know, _Germany_ ," he said, and Den shook his head – that tone of voice wouldn't work! – "sometimes I think we should break up. Ve."

What? Denmark sank his face into his hands. How blunt. This was never going to work.

"What?" Germany's voice echoed Denmark's thoughts. "You want to break up with me, Italy?"

They heard him walk back towards the bathroom and Denmark flushed the toilet. "Push the door closed," he hissed to Romano while the water ran. Romano pushed the door shut, but didn't lock it.

"Uh, maybe now isn't the best time to talk about it, ve, Germany," Romano said, rolling his eyes.

"I – well, we can certainly talk about it when you come out of there. I – I'm going to sit on the bed and read."

"Ve, well, whatever you want, I guess. Ve."

Denmark shook his head and turned on the sink. "This is so fucking stupid," he whispered. "How the hell are we going to get out of the hotel room?"

"I don't know, bastard! Didn't you figure something out, ve?"

Den snorted. "No, _ve,_ I didn't! Damn. Maybe Prussia and England can help."

"How? Can you call them on your cell while the water's running?"

Just then Denmark's cell phone rang. He and Romano panicked with wide eyes and Romano hurriedly flushed again for background noise, while Denmark grabbed the phone and answered it. "What?" he hissed.

But Germany spoke first. "Italy? Is the water still running?"

"Dammit!" Romano muttered.

Den shushed him and held the phone to his ear. "What?"

"This is so bloody stupid," England said. Denmark could hear the noise of the bar. "All he's doing is sitting here whining. I want to escape but Gilbert just keeps buying him drinks."

"Well, we're trapped in the bathroom! We can't figure out how to get out of here without Germany seeing us!"

"Bollocks. All right, how about if we bring him up and call it off? We'll get you out of there while Germany is distracted. Gilbert won't be happy, but at least this stupid plan will be over."

"Yeah, fine. Bring him up. See – " But before Denmark could ring off, Germany had shoved the door open and stood there staring at him and Romano in disbelief. "Whoops," Den said into the phone.

"Just what the hell is going on here?" Germany thundered. Romano immediately climbed into the bathtub and shut the shower curtain.

Denmark, who still hadn't hung up, heard England's laughter through his phone. "We'll be right up," the island nation yelled, and Den ended the call.

"Romano? Denmark?" An irate Germany grabbed the shower curtain and ripped it back, exposing a cowering Romano, who looked up fearfully and said, "Ve?"

…

By the time England, Prussia and Veneziano arrived, Romano was a gibbering bundle of nerves. Germany had made him and Denmark sit on the bed, and he lectured them for several minutes about their pranking and cruelty (while not failing to mention their complete ineptitude). Romano felt like shit, he was certain the fucking potato bastard was going to beat the crap out of him – Denmark or no Denmark – and he just wanted to run and hide behind a big white flag somewhere. Dammit!

A knock at the door interrupted the tirade. Germany pushed his hands through his hair, messing it up, and walked over to the door.

"Ve, Germany! Don't break up with me!" Veneziano launched himself at the potato bastard.

"I don't want to break up with you, Italy!" Germany sounded astonished. "Why would you think that?"

Prussia and England had frozen in the doorway, looking at Romano and Den sitting on the bed. "Come on," Prussia mouthed silently, but, fuck! The two "reunited" lovebirds were blocking their exit! Romano rubbed his hands violently through his hair and yelled, "Dammit!"

"Romano," Germany began again, but Veneziano interrupted.

"Oh, ve, _fratello_ , don't break up with England again! He's so thoughtful and bought me so many drinks!"

Both Denmark and Romano looked at England with bewildered expressions, and he just shrugged.

Fuck this. "Let me out of here," Romano barked, shoving his way past all these idiotic losers and into the hallway.

"Come on, Den!" Prussia yelled, and Denmark stumbled out after them.

"And stay out!" Germany shouted, slamming the hotel room door.

"Fuck, ve," Romano snapped.

"Please stop saying 've,'" England begged him. "It was bad enough I had to listen to your brother crying it out all night."

"How did we do so badly tonight? Our other pranks are always awesome!" Prussia scratched his head. "Well, whatever. At least it was fun."

"Fun for _you,_ albino potato! Your stupid bastard of a brother lectured my fucking ear off!" Romano kicked him.

"Ow, Romano!"

Denmark hugged the brunet. "But you were a trooper. You tried really hard, and if the bathroom door had been locked we might have found a way to do it. I'm proud of you."

England took Romano's hand. "Didn't I say? No more matchmaking shite?"

"Yes, Arthur, you awesomely warned us."

"Believe me, I think the lesson has finally hit home." Denmark laughed and picked up the still-angry Romano, spinning him around with a grin. "Want to go have some drinks, awesome friends?"

"No!" Romano pounded on Denmark's shoulders with no visible effect. "I want to crawl in a hole and die."

"Don't die," England said cheerfully, and that reminded Romano of this morning, and _that_ reminded him of last night. Hm.

When Denmark set him down he hurried to England's side and took his hand. "We're going to our room, bastards. We'll see you at the meeting tomorrow, and we will _not_ try any more matchmaking, or un-matchmaking, bullshit! Ever! Got that?"

"Got it, kesesese! Have an awesome night!" Prussia put his arm around Den and they headed downstairs to the hotel bar.


	131. The Write Stuff

**The Write Stuff.**

Romano woke up very early Wednesday morning, getting out of bed and throwing on some clothes. "Huh?" England asked sleepily.

"Don't worry about it, little kitten," the brunet whispered. "You're sleepy. This is all a dream." He kissed England's forehead and waited nervously until he'd gone back to sleep, then finished dressing and slipped out the door.

He hurried down to meeting room K. Prussia and Denmark were waiting for him in the brightly-lit hallway. "Kesesese!"

"Please keep it down, potato brain. If anybody catches us –"

"All right! Let's go." Denmark picked the lock on the conference room door and the three friends went inside.

…

When England woke up, Romano was sleeping next to him. Huh. He wondered why he'd dreamt of his friend leaving him. "Wake up, git. Meeting time."

"Uh. Yeah, all right. Dammit, my wrist hurts," he blurted out, before catching himself.

But England hadn't been paying attention. "What? Too much wanking?" He laughed a little. "I know how that feels."

"Nothing. Shut up." Romano stretched and got out of the bed; within minutes both friends were ready to leave the room.

"Bastard, I –"

"What?" England pulled him close for a little kiss.

"Nothing." Romano kissed back. "Let's just go to the fucking meeting."

…

Downstairs, the meeting room was still empty. "Uh, where are Den and the albino potato?"

"Beats me. Come in, let's sit down."

"N-not just yet. Let's wait for them."

England narrowed his eyes. "What the bloody hell are you wankers up to now?"

"Shh! Shh!" Romano flapped his hands in a panic. "Just play along, all right, dammit?" Dammit. He should have known.

But England just sighed. "All right. If it makes you happy." He rolled his eyes and put his arm around the brunet, leaning back against the wall. "Snuggle up to me."

"What? What the hell for?"

The island nation smirked. "To ensure my cooperation? Ah, come on, git, just relax with me." He smiled, and Romano allowed himself to relax against him; they talked in low whispers while waiting for their friends.

Nations began trickling in; Spain and France were practically dancing as they walked up to the door together. " _Bon jour, Angleterre._ Romano."

 _"Bon jour_ yourself, frog face. Have a nice night?"

"Ohonhonhon…"

Spain blushed, at that. " _Hola,_ Lovi."

Romano was about to snap back his usual "Don't ' _hola_ Lovi' me," but he felt pretty good this morning, so he just smiled enigmatically and nestled closer to England. Surprisingly, the tomato-brained bastard didn't seem disturbed by this; he smiled too, and went into the room with France.

"Well, that went well," England said.

Romano ignored this. Here were the other bastards. "Hey," he said, trying to be nonchalant.

"Kesesese! Good morning, you awesome boys. Come into the meeting room and get some breakfast before it's all gone."

Romano noticed that England had narrowed his eyes at the other two, but didn't say anything. They went into the room.

The breakfast buffet was indeed swarming with nations. "I'll get coffee if you get food, Den."

"Sure thing." Denmark punched Prussia in the shoulder and moved to the food table.

"Sounds like a good idea, git. Will you get us something to eat?"

"Yeah. Hurry up." Romano was now a little nervous.

When everyone had been seated, nations began pulling out pens and notebooks, or booting up laptops or other note-taking technology. France had placed cups of free pens down the center of the long conference table; a lot of nations reached for these, although many of them had special pens they liked to use. Romano did; he had a beautiful limited edition Monteverde. He uncapped it, scanning the room for others. The brunet watched Switzerland take out a fountain pen. Prussia and Den were looking around eagerly as well; Den had a fancy rollerball he always used.

Hm. Who else brought fancy pens? Russia took his from his briefcase. Cuba, Vietnam, that guy he never remem–oh, right, that was Canada, America's twin. Bulgaria, China, Japan. His idiot brother, but not the cheap-ass potato bastard (he suppressed a snort). Austria, of course; he always used an elegant fountain pen. Romano grinned as he noticed it was a match for Swissy's. Guess they were dating again.

Uh. England was using a fountain pen and note pad today, instead of using the free ones from the perverted bastard. Well, he'd hope for the best.

" _Bien_ , everyone, if we get started we might be able to end early," France said. Everyone focused.

…

About two minutes later Germany began shaking his free pen madly. Prussia kicked Romano under the table and they stifled grins as he shook it and shook it before tapping it on the paper and trying to write. His expression was perplexed.

Prussia looked up and down the table. Yep. A lot of people were having trouble with their free pens. But the people who had brought their own pens were focused on the meeting and not paying attention to this.

Eventually people started giving up and taking fresh pens from the free pen cups. Prussia almost snorted as he noticed some nations putting the bad pens back into the cups. Losers! He stifled a "kesesese" and squeezed Denmark's hand surreptitiously. Den didn't look up, but kept taking notes with his rollerball.

By midmorning all the free pen users were in a flap. Some of them had borrowed spares from their neighbors; some of them had simply stopped taking notes. But nobody seemed to think this pen drama might be intentional. The albino sighed in pleasure and leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head.

France skipped the midmorning break, because everyone wanted to get to lunch early. By this point almost everyone had settled down and was paying attention. Prussia pulled out a cheap rollerball and began to take notes.

"Psst!" Romania, one of the free pen users, tried to get his attention. "Got any more of those?"

Prussia nodded. Romania hastily pulled out two Euro coins and slid them across the table; Prussia gave him a pen. Sweet! He hadn't thought about the moneymaking opportunities. He heard a snort from Denmark and raised his gaze to see both Den and Romano laughing at him silently. He gave them both a toothy grin and pulled another cheap rollerball out of his pack.

Belarus looked like she was going to ask him for it, but then her attention was caught by Russia. Prussia kept writing flagrantly with the cheap rollerball.

Down the table, Liechtenstein was looking harassed, because Iceland kept trying to take her fountain pen.

A note and two Euro coins came sliding down the table towards Prussia. "Sell me your pen?" Finland had written.

Prussia sent the note back with his pen, and kept the coins.

Soon the free pen users were completely ignoring the meeting and trying to buy pens from the albino. "Awesome," he let himself whisper, and felt Denmark patting his shoulder. Within ten minutes he'd made back double what the cheap rollerballs had cost, and people were still trying to buy them!

"What is going on?" France finally barked.

But by that point, everyone who'd started out with a free pen now had one of Prussia's cheap stick rollerballs, and everyone was able to pay attention. Nations either put on innocent looks, or smirked at France, which was, of course, what Prussia did.

All of the nations with fancy personal pens had missed the drama entirely. Prussia leaned back, relaxing, and waited for lunch break.

…

"What did you write in your notebook, anyway, albino potato?" Romano grabbed the notebook and read "I'm going to sell a lot of pens today" and started laughing. "Well, you got that right."

Denmark laughed and threw his rollerball in the air, catching it on the way down. "What a morning. How much did you make?"

"Fifty Euros! And the pack of pens only cost eighteen. Kesesese!"

But England, who had been using his own pen and paying attention to France, was baffled. "What are you gits talking about now?"

"Oh, nothing, Arthur. Come on, leave your stuff here and let's get some lunch."

"I don't want to leave my things here!"

Denmark punched him. "Don't worry about it. You know France always locks the door, and everybody else left their stuff here. It's not like someone's going to steal it."

The nations looked around. They were the last ones in the room, except for France, who was irritably waiting by the door with Spain. "Come along, you slackers," Spain teased.

"Kesesese! We're coming." The four friends left the room and France locked it behind them.

…

"Damn. I forgot I have some stuff for Sweden up in my room. Let me go get it; order me something good, and I'll be down in a minute." Denmark got up and ran out of the restaurant.

"Okay, Den!" he heard Prussia call after him.

He hurried back to Room K and picked the lock, closing the heavy oak door behind him. Good. Nobody here, and plenty of time to work. Denmark did what he was supposed to do, very quickly, and came out of the room, locking it behind him once more.

"Where's your Sweden stuff?" England asked him, when he came back empty-handed.

Whoops. "I, uh, couldn't find it?" He scratched his head. "Ah, it's not really a problem. I'll get it for him later."

"We ordered you some food, Den."

"Not snails, I hope." He drank a little coffee and peered at his plate.

"Nope. Look how cool we are. We got you a _croque norvégien_!"

Denmark nodded happily. "Yep. You are my awesome brothers." He beamed at them all and began to eat his smoked salmon sandwich.

…

France unlocked the meeting room and everyone filtered in to begin the afternoon session. People with Prussia pens picked them up and sat attentively; those nations who had left their personal pens in the room looked for them.

"Why is my pen all the way over at your seat, Latvia?" Russia asked menacingly.

"I – I – I don't know!" Latvia began to cry and ran out of the room.

"I don't care what you bastards say, that kid is hilarious."

"Shut it, wanker. Where's my pen?"

"And mine!" Denmark looked around in confusion.

Eventually England's pen was discovered near Veneziano's chair. The blond narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything, instead just took the pen back to his chair wordlessly. Denmark's rollerball turned up at Japan's seat. He frowned down at the dark-haired nation and snatched the pen back, storming over to his seat.

In a few more minutes all the fancy-pen nations had located their correct pens and sat down with confused expressions on their faces. Prussia checked his bag to make sure he had some more pens to sell, and then kicked back to listen to the meeting.

…

Soon Belarus threw down her Prussia pen in anger. She didn't say anything, but absently reached for one of the free pens. The friends watched her try to scribble with it, but apparently it wasn't working. She picked up the Prussia pen again, scribbling, and didn't get any joy.

"Prussia," she hissed.

"What?"

"This pen is a piece of junk!" She scooted it along the table towards him. "It's out of ink already!"

"Hey, nobody said they were top quality pens."

She sighed. "Give me another one," she demanded, holding out her hand.

"Two Euros," he laughed back, holding out his hand in return.

There was a stalemate for about fifteen seconds and then Belarus noticed Ukraine smirking and waggling her fountain pen. Belarus pulled out two more Euro coins and slapped them into Prussia's hand with irritation. He gave her a fresh pen and returned to his writing.

This little drama was repeated all over the room between lunch and the midafternoon break. The general noise level of the room was much higher now, because the free pen people were getting really irritated. "This is so awesome," Prussia murmured to Denmark. "They are all such losers. Why didn't anybody go buy new pens at lunch?"

"What are you writing?" Denmark turned the notebook to face him.

"A totally epic poem about marketing. I'll show you later; I'm not done yet." The albino grabbed the notebook back and began scribbling again.

"All right, everyone," France eventually sighed. "Nobody is paying attention and I'm tired of listening to the sound of my own voice, beautiful though it is." He winked and tossed his hair back. "We will have a half-hour midafternoon break and begin again afterwards. Yes, we may run late tonight, but you are all driving me _complètement fou!_ "

A break sounded like a good idea right now. Almost everyone fled the room; they were all so eager to leave that they left all their things behind.

…

"I hope we don't run too late tonight," England groused. "I actually thought Francy-pants was making good progress as a host, because this morning went really well. But if we have to keep stopping –"

"Don't worry about it. We can all focus." Denmark patted him on the shoulder as they walked outside.

"Where's Romano, anyway?" Prussia asked them, looking around.

"Eh, had to go back to the room for something. He'll meet us in the meeting room."

"Oh. Okay." Prussia grinned.

"Are we doing anything fun tonight? We could go cause a ruckus on the Eiffel Tower." Denmark tried to spot it from their current location, but could only see the point because of all the other buildings in the way.

"Drunk or not drunk? Kesesese!"

"Hey, we can cause a ruckus without being drunk. I'll take my axe."

"Won't get very far. The bloody gendarmes would stop you."

"But it's just a cultural artifact," Den grinned, poking the island nation.

"We could try. I don't see why not. We haven't caused a good public ruckus in a long time," Prussia considered.

Romano came running down the hotel steps with a grin. "Come on, bastards, it's time for the meeting to start."

They all hurried back inside, hoping to finish on time.

…

"Ve, what happened to my nice pen?" Veneziano asked.

Similar comments were coming from all the fancy pen users around the room. Denmark started lifting up papers and notebooks, seeking his rollerball; many nations got down on hands and knees to look for their pens on the floor.

All the owners of Prussia's cheap pens sat down and acted smug.

China was quite distressed. "My pen was a limited edition Montegrappa with the Eternal Bird on it! It cost a fortune-aru!"

France tried in vain to control the increasingly-agitated nations, many of whom had sat down with their heads in their hands and some of whom (Veneziano, Latvia) had begun to cry.

"Da," Russia agreed. "I am quite angry at the loss of my pen." He smiled benignly at the nations near him, lifting his briefcase and opening the catches.

Fancy pens spilled out of the briefcase all over the table. "Russia!" Bulgaria yelled, grabbing his pen. "Why did you take my pen?"

"And mine!" "Give me my pen!" The room dissolved into complete mayhem as nations fought to get their pens back from the baffled Russia, who stood there holding his empty briefcase and listening to the insults and threats aimed at him.

Romano looked around the room; the only nation not paying attention was, in fact, England, who had his head on the table, covered by his arms. Heh. The brunet nudged him with his knee, and England just shook his head, not raising it.

"Russia, you really should stop stealing pens from people!" Denmark shouted, grabbing his rollerball. He bared his teeth viciously and sat back down.

"Right! Stop! Everyone stop and sit down!" the flustered France yelled.

By this point everyone had recovered their appropriate writing instruments and they all sat down, trying to calm their agitation; many still kept darting dirty looks at Russia.

" _Bien._ Now, let's get started. _Angleterre?_ " France asked delicately, since England was still hiding his face.

The island nation shook his head, still not looking up.

"Suit yourself, _mon ami._ "

But Prussia could not restrain a tiny little "Kesesese," and in the tense room it sounded like the hissing of a cannon's fuse.

"Prussia! You did this, didn't you?" Russia realized, gesturing to not only the people with their own pens in hand, but also to the nations using the cheap pens the albino had sold.

All of those free pen users – most of whom had shelled out at least four Euros today – turned to look at the grinning Prussia with dawning irritation. England tried to hide under the table.

"Awesome prank, wasn't it?" Prussia waggled his eyebrows.

But Russia leaped over the conference table, ice pick in hand. "I'm going to kill you now, da?" He chased Prussia right out of the room; all the free pen buyers got up and followed, enraged, streaming out of the conference room behind them and screaming obscenities at the albino. _"Kesesese..."_ the others heard, as the group ran away.


	132. Dinner Dates

**Dinner Dates.**

Estonia collared China outside the French meeting room on the first day. "China! Good morning."

"Good morning-aru. Estonia, right?"

The Baltic nation nodded. "Will you have dinner with me tonight?" It was certainly getting easier to ask nations for dates. Practice makes perfect, he supposed.

In the split second before China answered, he remembered that Australia had been trying to snag the Asian nation. Whoops. Estonia hoped he wasn't butting into a relationship that he didn't know about.

But China's next words reassured him. "Yes! I'd like that. There's a great little restaurant right down the road-aru."

Before they could speak further they heard France bellowing from inside the meeting room, trying to get everyone's attention. Estonia smiled. "See you after the meeting!" He ducked into the room, followed by China, and they grabbed seats.

Oh, dear. Canada was right across the table from him. A-and Bulgaria was right next to Canada. With his gloves on. Oh, _dear._

But Canada was staring at the table, and Bulgaria was fiddling with his fancy pen, so Estonia turned his attention to France, at the head of the room, for this first day of a week-long set of meetings.

…

After the meeting broke up China scooted over. "Are you ready to go? I'm so excited."

Estonia winked daringly. "Me too." Hah, looking at Bulgaria all day had distracted him a lot. "What's the restaurant?" He picked up his laptop and they left the room.

"Oh, it's a new one, called the Ming Garden-aru."

"A – a Chinese restaurant?"

"Of course a Chinese restaurant, Estonia." China poked him in the arm. "You don't think I want to eat hamburgers, do you?" He made a face.

"Th-that wasn't it. I thought that since we're in Paris, we'd go to a French restaurant." Chinese? Seriously?

The Asian nation considered this. "Well, why don't we go to the Ming Garden tonight and then have a French dinner tomorrow night-aru? We have all week to try different restaurants together?"

Estonia looked into those liquid brown eyes, and China's smile was so sweet that he couldn't help but agree. "Okay. Let me drop my things in my room and I'll meet you in the lobby."

"Right. See you in a few minutes-aru."

Estonia hurried to the room he was sharing with Latvia, taking a few minutes to quickly freshen up. He was surprised that China had agreed so readily, and seemed so enthusiastic. Well, maybe the dark-haired nation simply enjoyed company. "See you later, Latvia," he called out, receiving a quiet wave in response.

…

"Ming Garden is just down the road-aru. Do you like Chinese food?" Then Estonia's date began laughing. "Who am I kidding-aru? Everybody likes Chinese food!" He swished his long sleeves through the air happily. "I'm glad you asked me out. It's no fun dining alone-aru."

"I know. I'm glad you said yes!" Estonia wanted to try to hold China's hand but the sleeves made that impossible, so he settled for walking closer to him.

The Ming Garden was quite close by and delicious smells wafted out into the street. "Mm," China sighed. "Just like being at home-aru."

After they'd been seated Estonia politely asked China to choose his meal. "I'd like to see the types of things you feel are best."

"Of course." China ordered for both of them and they began to relax from the hectic day. "Why did you want to ask me out? It's rare, you know."

"I – " Wow. Estonia had never considered that anyone would ask him that question, and he scrambled. "Don't know you well, and thought it would be interesting for us to get to know each other better?" He hoped that sounded all right.

"I don't mind at all. Better than going out with some of those other dorks-aru." The Asian poured tea for them and they sat back to await the meal. "Your country is celebrating Father's Day soon, isn't it?"

He was floored. Positively _floored!_ Someone had looked up his holidays! "How did you know that?"

China laughed merrily. "I don't pay attention to France any more. I spent the whole day reading about your country on my laptop-aru."

Oh, boy, Estonia felt like a million Euros. He beamed. "Thank you for taking the time. I spent a lot of time researching your country before arriving here in Paris." He coughed delicately before broaching the next topic. "I heard from Australia that he was trying to date you? That was a few months ago."

"Pfft. He just likes to call me because I'm close by. I never take him seriously-aru."

Well, that was a relief. The food came. "But yes, Father's Day is next Sunday." Estonia liked his Father's Day celebrations. He liked all celebrations! "Your holidays are very different, from what I read online. Not like our Western holidays at all."

"True. We have a lot of legends and myths that we honor through holidays-aru." China took time to explain the Water Lantern festival, which was the next one coming up in his country.

"Fascinating," Estonia said, pushing his glasses up his nose. "It must be beautiful."

"All our holidays are beautiful-aru."

They spent the rest of the meal talking of their countries and various differences between them. This was a nice, friendly meal! And Estonia really did like Chinese food. He wasn't upset that they'd come to the Ming Garden tonight. He'd do some research and find a really splendid French restaurant for tomorrow night.

When they got back to the hotel China hugged him. "Thank you. I'd like to stay up and chat more, but it was a long journey for me-aru. Dinner tomorrow night?"

Estonia smiled. "Of course. Have a good rest. I'll see you at the meeting."

China smiled brightly and walked off, flapping a sleeve at him.

In the room, Estonia pulled up the spreadsheet and put a nice bright blue box around China's name. Yes, that nation was just as far away as Australia had been, but it would be worth it. He knew it would.

…

The next morning they met outside the meeting room and embraced. "I found a nice French restaurant for dinner," Estonia smiled. "It's not too far away, either."

"Oh! But my favorite Chinese restaurant is just outside the city-aru."

"We just had Chinese last night!" Estonia blurted in surprise.

"Oh, I know, but this is one of my favorites outside of China. Why don't we try that one tonight? I'd like to show it to you."

China's smile was so adorable that Estonia caved in. "All right. Do we need a cab?"

"Probably. Let's just get through the meeting and talk about it then."

"Okay." They went into the room together and found seats. Romano was wearing his Estonian sweater! That made him happy and he smiled at the half-nation, who blushed and gave a little smile in response.

But overall, today Estonia felt very ill-at-ease. For one thing he was astonished that China was pushing another Chinese restaurant on him. In _Paris!_ There were so many outstanding French restaurants in Paris that he couldn't believe this. Well, there were three more nights after tonight. Still time to explore French restaurants.

For another thing, he kept catching both Canada and Bulgaria shooting furtive glances at him. Bulgaria's normally pleasant face wore a near-constant scowl, and Canada was furiously blushing all day. Estonia didn't quite know what to make of it.

At the end of the meeting China was collared by Russia about something, so Estonia packed up his laptop. Then he felt a hesitant tap on the shoulder. Surprised, he looked up to see the still-blushing Canada standing by.

"I – I wanted to talk to you, Eduard," he breathed, not meeting Estonia's eyes. "I wanted to apologize to you. I shouldn't have gotten so angry. Everybody calls me America; I ought to be used to it by now. I – I'm sorry." He finally glanced up, the fading sunlight glinting off his glasses. "W-will you forgive me?"

"Uh, uh, well, of course I forgive you," he stammered. Now what? Did this mean Canada – _Matthew_ – wanted to date him again?

"C-could we have dinner together? There's a nice French restaurant I know, where probably no one would find us, and we could catch up?" Matthew's expression was so sweet that Estonia almost gathered him into an embrace –

And then China walked up behind him and slipped his arms around Estonia's waist. "Ready for dinner-aru?" he said cheerfully, rubbing his cheek against Estonia's.

The Baltic nation watched Mat— _Canada's_ eyes widen, then fall. "S-sorry," he whispered, leaving the room, downcast. Damn.

"Yes, I'm ready," he told the Asian nation, as heartily as he could manage. "Let's go."

…

Upon their arrival back at the hotel – after a delicious Chinese dinner – the two of them headed to the bar for drinks. They could see Veneziano in the corner, crying, with Prussia and England, but otherwise there wasn't much happening. Estonia led his date to a corner booth. He still hadn't been able to hold China's hand. Those sleeves – !

"Did you enjoy dinner-aru?"

"I did," he replied, "but I really do want to go out for French food tomorrow night. Are you game?"

"Of course. I did promise you. Sorry I've been so overbearing about it, but I adore my country's cuisine-aru."

The waiter brought their drinks. After sipping his rice wine, China snuggled right up next to Estonia, who blushed, but smiled.

The two nations didn't speak much, although they got closer and closer on the bench seat as they consumed more and more alcohol. Soon Estonia found himself lifting China's arm, trying to find the actual hand in the sleeve. China giggled. "You want to take my robe off-aru?"

Estonia blushed again. "Mostly I just want to find your hand," he admitted, and both of them burst into laughter, startling the other patrons.

China shook his sleeves back and took Estonia's hand in his. "Let me read your palm," he suggested, bringing the Baltic nation's hand very close to his eyes to focus.

Estonia leaned back on the seat. This could be interesting. Of course he didn't believe in all this superstitious mumbo-jumbo, but China might find out something unusual from reading his palm.

"Hmm…hmm…" China's elegant fingers traced the lines of his palm. "Yes, yes! Fascinating! I had no idea-aru!"

"What is it?" Estonia breathed. Maybe some secret thing about his personality?

"You like Chinese food!" the Asian nation cackled, letting go of his hand and rocking with laughter.

In his somewhat inebriated state Estonia too found this very funny, and laughed so hard that his glasses fell off. "Oh, China, I'm so drunk," he realized.

"Me too-aru. I – I think I need to get back to my room-aru. Especially since we have a meeting tomorrow."

"G-good idea." Estonia fumbled for his glasses and put them back on. "Come on, I'll help you get to your room. Aru."

China started howling with laughter again and they stumbled out of the bar to their separate rooms.

…

During the next day's meeting everyone seemed to be in a minor uproar. Estonia, taking notes on his laptop, couldn't quite understand why, although the drama apparently had something to do with Prussia. China too was in a bit of a flap. Well, he'd find out about it at dinner, he supposed. He'd already chosen a restaurant that France recommended highly. Estonia daydreamed of escargot and crème caramel, while the meeting ran on.

Near the end of the day everyone started screaming at Prussia and chased him out of the room; China was in that group. The remaining nations waited patiently so the day's meeting could adjourn, but none of those people came back.

Fifteen minutes later France gave up. "Well, _mes amis_ , we might as well break for the day."

Denmark and Romano began laughing. Estonia ignored them, packing up his gear, and headed out to look for his date.

…

Hours later he still hadn't been able to locate China, so he'd defaulted to the hotel restaurant for a lonely dinner. He wasn't happy.

…

The next morning China bounced up to him happily for a hug. "Good morning-aru! How are you today?"

"Where did you go last night?" he grumbled. China hadn't even called to say he was busy elsewhere!

"Oh, well, we chased Prussia all the way down the street, and ended up near the Ming Garden again, so a bunch of us had dinner there-aru."

Estonia scowled, but China didn't seem to notice his distress. "Meeting time," the Asian then said happily.

"Are we having dinner tonight?" He almost didn't want to ask. How could China have been so indifferent to him?

"Sure. Not the Ming Garden, though. Maybe we could try the Szechuan Panda-aru?"

"China, _no!_ " Estonia felt bad for yelling but the week was almost over and he hadn't had a chance to go to a French restaurant yet. "I want to go to a French restaurant!"

"All right, all right. Don't yell-aru. Let's go sit down and get through the meeting." China patted his arm and they went into meeting room K.

Prussia didn't appear today. Estonia still had no idea what had been happening yesterday, and he was irritated with China. Well, at least they had the French restaurant to look forward to.

…

The two nations walked arm-in-arm down the Champs-Élysées towards the restaurant Estonia had chosen. "Oh, look! I didn't know about this one-aru." China pointed to a tiny little Chinese restaurant sandwiched in between a bookseller's and a wine bar. "Why don't we go here for dinner?"

Estonia stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. "I can't believe you! Every night this week we've had Chinese. Well, except yesterday, because you ditched me without telling me! China, you need to be more flexible."

"Flexible-aru? I can't believe you're being so overbearing." China sniffed and folded his arms. "I'm going to eat at this little place. Are you joining me or not?"

A long vista of the future, filled with nothing but Chinese food, stretched out in Estonia's mind's eye. "No," he decided. "Thanks for the dates, but this just isn't working out."

"Suit yourself-aru. Talk to you later."

And that was that! China went into the little restaurant without a backward glance. Estonia stood on the sidewalk in anger for another moment or two, and then he stormed off to the French restaurant to dine alone.

And when Canada and Bulgaria walked in together, he got up, leaving his half-eaten meal on the table, and left.


	133. A Cozy Evening

**A Cozy Evening.**

England lay on the couch, fully-dressed in his uniform, except for his feet, which wore only socks. He had been using his new e-reader to check stock quotes and the performance of various world currencies.

Across the room, a silent Romano sat in a chair, reading a hardback book. The half-nation wore casual clothing: blue t-shirt, black hoodie, black jeans, belt, and white socks.

January in London is chilly; England had built a blazing fire in the grate. He had the tea tray on a table within arm's reach; Romano's coffee, on an end table, grew cold as he focused on his book.

The two of them had been in the large, elegant room for almost an hour now.

Romano turned a page; England swiped the screen of his tablet to page forward.

The island nation drank some tea absently, being careful not to spill any on the electronics. Romano turned another page.

"It's bloody hot in here." England set the tablet aside so he could stand up and remove his overbelt and jacket. He laid them neatly at the foot of the couch. This accomplished, he reclined again, sipping the last of the cold tea. Romano merely grunted, flipping the next page.

In a few minutes Romano set the book face-down, rose, and stretched. He took off his hoodie, flung it on the floor, and sat down again. "Hot in here," he mumbled.

"Eh." But it was pretty hot. England pulled the hem of his shirt out of his trousers and took off his tie, then opened the top two shirt buttons. This accomplished, he jumped to a new website. His left hand supported the tablet; the right leisurely drifted up and began playing with the pet tag around his neck.

He cut his eyes to Romano, who still sat reading. England watched him for about four minutes, during which time Romano failed to change position or turn a page. _His_ cat collar had been visible on and off all day, but now that the hoodie had been discarded, the collar was easily seen. The island nation smiled and turned his attention back to his tablet.

Ten minutes later Romano removed his socks.

"Good idea," England said, removing his in a hurry. Romano blushed, but didn't meet his eye, and didn't comment.

The blond stopped fondling the pet tag to scroll through an article about the most recent EU banking stress test exercises. He snorted to read that Spain was still failing so badly. He was worse than any other country. Wanker.

Romano finished his cold coffee, turning the page. When he'd set the cup back down, he pulled the hem of his t-shirt out of his waistband. "Too hot for you?" England asked with a smirk.

"I'll be all right, bastard." He picked up his book again. "What time is it?" His tone was so artless that the island nation nearly laughed.

"Five thirty-six."

Romano kept his eyes on the page. "Oh. Okay."

England unbuttoned his shirt all the way and spread it open. Romano turned a page.

"Five forty," the blond said a few minutes later.

"Dammit, shut up about it, bastard." Red-faced, Romano flipped a page almost angrily.

"Just thought you might like to know."

The amber eyes finally glanced up. "Look, stupid, I'm – " He stopped, his eyes traveling up and down England's bared torso. "Trying to read," he concluded, scowling back down at his book.

England was by now grinning like a fool, but of course Romano had stopped looking. "Five forty-five."

"Grr." But then Romano set the book down and rose to take his shirt off. Now clad only in his jeans, he plopped irritably down into the big chair.

"Nice pet tag."

"Don't goad me, you stupid idiot. What time is it?"

"Five forty-seven."

"Dammit."

By now England too wished that the clock would move a little faster. To kill some time, he set the tablet aside and got up, discarding the open shirt; it fell to the floor and he let it lay. He stretched with a loud grunt; Romano didn't look at him. The blond smiled and lay back on the couch again, picking up the tablet.

Hm. Maybe they should go see the new James Bond movie. The island nation loved 007. He couldn't remember whether Romano enjoyed those movies or not. Well, he'd wait until the bet was done, until six o'clock, and then see what happened. If everyone stayed calm, he'd invite him to the movie tonight.

He was so intent on these thoughts that he didn't realize the half-dressed Romano was now standing next to him, bent down, his chest brushing against England's shoulder. "Wh-what are you doing, git?" he managed.

"Just checking the clock on your little computer gizmo." Romano straightened and went back to the chair.

Hah. Five fifty-three. England closed his eyes. That would help.

Then he opened them and checked the clock. Five fifty-four. Blast it!

So he visited his favorite Italian tourism website. Hm…how he'd love to make love to Romano in a gondola in Venice. Slow and sweet…ahem. "Five fifty-eight," he croaked out, running his hands through his hair as a distraction.

But he smirked as Romano put a bookmark into his book and very deliberately set it on the side table. The brunet stretched in the chair, not meeting his friend's eyes. "Six o'clock yet?" he asked, again in that fake, I-don't-give-a-damn tone of voice.

The island nation checked the clock and set the tablet aside. "Yes," he grinned, sitting up.

The two of them eyed each other. England was on the couch, right? So there was no reason at all for him to get up.

But Romano was now smirking. Didn't look like he'd get out of the chair anytime soon.

Then they spoke at the same time:

"Dammit."

"Bloody hell."

Both nations jumped out of their chairs and ran to each other in the middle of the parlor, embracing and kissing as though they hadn't seen each other in months. "Dammit, no more stupid bets like that, idiot." Romano's hands were warm as they traveled up and down his friend's back.

"Who won, anyway?" The blond's hands were in the soft dark hair, trying to pull Romano closer as he kissed him.

"Looks like we both did, bastard."


	134. A Gauche Date

**A Gauche Date.**

Estonia had waffled quite a bit about asking Cuba for a date. He was beginning to get very distressed about the whole plan, and also, that country always seemed to be going through upheavals. But in a fit of determination he made the call, and Cuba was amenable, so off to Cuba he went.

It was almost Christmastime. It would be nice to have a partner to share the holidays with, instead of having to hang out with Latvia again. He'd try to be pleasant and accommodating. Too bad Canada now seemed to be dating Bulgaria.

He spent most of his time on the flight contemplating that unlikely couple, wondering what Bulgaria would say if Canada asked him to spend the night.

Then Estonia began fidgeting in his seat and forced himself to think about city demographics and health care.

When he got off the plane his host was right there waiting for him. "Hey, man," Cuba said, smacking him heartily on the back. "Nice to see you could make it."

"It's much warmer than I'd expected." But Estonia _had_ done weather research. No more Australia-type blunders for him!

"Thought we could go to a music festival tonight. That all right with you?"

"Sure. I love learning about other cultures. I read up a little on some of your things before I got here."

"Come on. We can walk; it's not far."

The two nations wandered down the street towards the festival grounds where the music would be played. "Do you like ice cream?" his host asked. "They sell good stuff there."

"Ice cream is fine. I know your neighbor America really loves his ice cream," the Baltic nation joked.

This generic comment had an alarming effect! Cuba began grinding his teeth and scowling. Estonia hurriedly sought for a new topic. "Are you preparing for Christmas?"

Cuba settled down. "Yes, and I'm looking forward to Nochebuena, when we have such a big feast. I love the holidays," he sighed, patting his stomach.

"Who doesn't?" They laughed together and entered the park. "Is this a concert by one group, or will there be many different groups playing?"

"Tonight there are five groups or individuals playing," Cuba explained, leading Estonia to an ice cream stand. "What flavor do you like?"

"Surprise me!"

And boy, was Estonia surprised. Cuba handed him a cone stacked with four scoops – _four scoops!_ – of ice cream! How was he supposed to eat all this?

Of course, this now explained how Cuba himself got to be so burly. "Wh-what flavors are they?" he asked shyly. He hoped he could eat it all, and not disappoint his host!

"Top to bottom, pistachio, cotton candy, caramel and blueberry." Cuba grinned and eagerly began eating the pistachio on his own cone, while he led Estonia to a wide patch of lawn where they could sit to enjoy the music.

The Baltic nation began madly trying to eat this monstrosity before it melted and dripped all over him, but it was already beginning to soften in the heat. Cuba didn't make conversation, being focused on his own cone, so Estonia applied himself manfully to the task, although a little part of his brain knew he must look like an idiot, gulping it down. He wondered why Cuba chose this bizarre combo of flavors. Maybe it was a test.

Musicians came on the stage and people applauded, but Estonia was still fighting this extreme dessert so he didn't bother. But by the time the group had finished the first song, the blond – who fumbled for his handkerchief to wipe the smears of ice cream off his face – was done, and he was able to applaud politely, though he also had to work to suppress a belch. "Nice music," he managed to say, a little out of breath. "Reminds me of America's Salsa music."

Cuba's face began to turn red as he finished up his cone, but he didn't say anything, because his mouth was full. By the time he'd completed his snack – and Estonia had shifted a little further away from him – a new song had begun, so neither nation spoke. The Baltic nation watched out of the corner of his eye as Cuba's hands, which had clenched into fists, began to relax.

Boy. He was really temperamental. Estonia wondered what was bothering him so much.

He deemed it wiser not to comment, and simply enjoyed the music as they sat and listened. On the field, people were dancing, laughing, and hugging each other, but Cuba and his date simply sat on the lawn and listened. Every now and then someone would walk past and wave to the host nation, who always smiled and waved in return. That was nice. A good rapport with his people.

Whenever Estonia caught his eye, he too smiled, and Cuba was now reclining, grinning, and snapping his fingers in time with the music. So Estonia lounged back, propping himself up with his elbows. "Do you have a lot of music festivals?"

"Yeah, pretty much. People like to get out and about, and we do have great music." Cuba grinned at him. "How about you?"

"We actually do have quite a few. Probably for the same reasons. But wow, this music is so different from mine! Very snappy."

Cuba didn't ask for an invitation to visit to compare music styles, and Estonia was a little too nervous to offer, just yet. Well, if the date went well, he'd ask later.

A little later – presumably after his digestion had settled – Cuba stood up and began to dance. "Come on, Estonia! Get up and dance!"

So Estonia got up to dance. It was very lively, and by now everyone was up and enjoying the music.

…

A few hours later the festival wound down. Estonia and Cuba grinned at each other. "Good for the soul as well as the body," his host told him, and that was probably true.

The Baltic nation took off his glasses to wipe his sweating face. "Awesome," he laughed. He felt _great!_ Exhausted, but great. "I haven't danced like that in a long time. Not since – oh, probably during the summer, when I was at America's place," he considered. There had been casual dancing at Denmark's birthday party at the water park, and he'd done a fair share of it.

But Cuba erupted into sudden anger, startling him. "Estonia, you have the worst manners of any nation I've ever met! Will you please shut up about America? You say you did research before you came here – didn't you understand the kind of stupid ass that guy is, when it comes to me? Shut up about him! He's my worst enemy!"

Estonia was taken aback. Yes, he knew Cuba and the US had weak relations. He simply hadn't realized just how bad things really were – at least from the Latin nation's perspective. "S-sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Ah, forget it," Cuba muttered, and Estonia was grateful that he was dropping the subject so easily…until his host continued speaking, and the blond realized he'd completely misunderstood. "Forget it," Cuba repeated. "I can't deal with the idea of dating someone who thinks and talks about America so highly. I had fun dancing with you, Estonia, but…I don't want another date."

"Okay," Estonia shrugged, trying to keep it low-key.

"Let's get you back to the airport." Cuba strode off down the street and Estonia hastened to follow.

At the airport they politely shook hands but Estonia was fuming inside, and Cuba didn't look happy either. "See you around," he said.

"Thanks again." Estonia tried to put a little warmth into his voice – Cuba had at least been polite and friendly – but his host shrugged and left the airport without any further comment.

It wasn't until the airplane had taken off that he realized that, once again, it was America who had thwarted his date! Was the heroic nation actually his – his _love nemesis_? He snorted at that idea, startling the flight attendant.

No, this was all just dumb bad luck. Cuba and America had a bad relationship, and Estonia should have kept his mouth shut.

He decided to spend Christmas alone – or maybe with Latvia – and revisit this idiotic project in the New Year.


	135. The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

**The Most Wonderful Time of the Year.**

"Woohoo!" Prussia leaped into the air, spinning around, and almost fell over as he careened into Denmark. "Merry Christmas, guys! This is going to be so awesome!" He was wearing his beaded hat, and surprisingly, it looked pretty good on him, not too girly.

"This _is_ going to be awesome," Romano agreed, his cheeks a little pink…from the cold, dammit, not because he was holding England's hand and the sap was smiling at him like a lovesick girl!

"Come on," the host nation said. "We're starting out the week with a visit to Christiania." He smiled a very toothy smile at them all and waggled his eyebrows.

"Whoa! See, didn't I tell you guys it was going to be awesome?" Prussia asked unnecessarily. "Come on, let's go! Woohoo!" he repeated, hugging the Dane.

"Look, what the fuck are you so excited about, potato brain? What's Christiania?" Romano had done a lot of research for this trip, but hadn't seen that name anywhere.

They all climbed into Denmark's car, stowing luggage in the back. "Can I tell them, Den? Can I?"

Denmark ruffled Prussia's hair. "Tell them whatever you want. I have to focus on driving."

"You don't have to tell me, git. I know what it is." England had a big smirk on his face. He squeezed Romano's hand and got into the car.

"Dammit, does everybody in the world know about this except me? Tell me what the hell it is!" Romano settled in and punched the seat.

Prussia explained about Christiania, a special section of Copenhagen that was not bound by the laws of Denmark. How squatters had moved in and founded this autonomous commune in the 1970s, and it had continued to thrive despite a lot of right-wing pressure over the years.

"So? Why are you three all grinning like maniacs?" The half-nation was still pissed off; he hated not being in on the joke.

"They sell dope there. We can get high!" Prussia did a little dance in the front seat of the car.

"Wh-what?" Romano couldn't believe he'd heard right, but when he looked at England, the blond was still smirking. "You're joking."

"Nope. One of the few places left where you can indulge, that way."

"Huh. I haven't been high in a long time." Then Romano yelled, "Fuck!" and punched the seat again.

"What? Now what?"

"N-nothing. Just thinking about the last time I got high."

"Oh, yeah! You were with Spain, right? Kesesese! I remember that one time we all went to France's place and you took off – "

"Shut up, albino potato, _please_? Th-that part of my life is completely over and I don't want any stupid memories coming out." Romano glared out the window. Hell. He and England had just gotten things worked out and now stupid Prussia was going to fuck it all up by talking about the tomato bastard.

And then he felt England's arms around him and a kiss on his hair. "B-bastard?"

"Hey, it's not like I've never done anything stupid in my life, all right? Settle down."

"Yeah, settle down," Den added. "We're almost there."

"The best thing about this particular vacation," Prussia then pointed out, "is that we don't have jet lag! _Woohoo!_ " he yelled again.

"Stop yelling in the car," the other three snapped at him.

"Kesesese!"

…

Denmark took them all on a little walking tour of the area, the unique homes and shops, explaining about the history of the area, before taking them down Pusher Street to get some marijuana. After making a little purchase (with Prussia "kesesese"-ing under his breath the whole time), they walked off together to partake, sitting together under a tree very similar to their regular oak tree.

"Why doesn't the government just close the place down?" Romano wondered, taking a hit and passing the joint to the albino potato. Ah, that was good stuff.

"It's part of the Danish culture! Something you probably can't find anywhere else in the world."

Prussia exhaled before laughing again. "Not somewhere I'd want to deal with every day, but once in a while, it's nice." He handed the joint off to England and stared into the sky.

England took a deep, deep drag and handed it to Denmark. "Thanks for having us over, Denmark. Can we do that pirate ship thing while we're here?"

"You and your stupid pirate ships," Romano laughed.

"Arthur was a badass pirate," Prussia reminisced faintly. "In fact, I think one of my warships is still at the bottom of the Kattegat. We should go scuba diving and look for it."

"England sunk one of your warships?" This struck Romano as hilariously funny and he began giggling and leaning against Denmark.

"I sunk a lot of warships, git. Just ask the frog." The island nation had a dreamy expression on his face. "Or bloody Spain."

"Yeah, I had to listen to them bitch all the time about you, Ethel. Little did they know." Prussia leaned against England fondly and they sighed together, which made Romano and Denmark laugh.

"So, do you come here a lot, Den?" The joint came to Romano again and he didn't hesitate. "Seems like it would distract you from your work. But I bet the potato makes you bring him here a lot."

"Surprisingly, no. Prussia and I only came here once, when we first started dating."

"What? I can't believe it. A place with this kind of freedom to act crazy, and he's not dragging you here every time?" The half-nation poked Prussia, who grinned vaguely and poked him back, but didn't speak.

"Crazy," England said distantly.

"Hey, come on, let's get up and walk around," Romano then said, jumping up and tugging on Denmark's arm. "Come on! Let's not sit around here yakking all day! It's a beautiful day and we're at Denmark's place and it's Christmas vacation and we have a ton of stuff to do, you bastards, so get up and come on, let's _move!_ " He jumped up and down, trying to convey his eagerness to the others.

Denmark shrugged. "I don't really mind but I can't drive for a while yet." He grinned at Romano, who pouted but kept jumping up and down just for the hell of it.

England and Prussia were still staring into the sky. "That cloud looks like a dragon," Prussia said, vaguely flapping his hand at the sky.

"No, more like a toaster."

"A _toaster_? Iggy, you're losing it!"

"Don't call me 'Iggy,'" England sighed, leaning back onto the ground, hands behind his head.

"Don't call him 'Iggy,' Romano laughed. He poked Prussia, who lifted his hand as if to poke, but then dropped it, as he was still dreamily contemplating the clouds. "What's the matter with you two?" Romano then demanded. "Come on! Time's a-wasting!" He did a little pirouette in front of them, which was so unlike him that the other three stopped their daydreaming and tried to focus.

Denmark burst into little giggles. "Sit down and wait, Romano. We have a whole week."

"But I wanna _do stuff!_ "

This time all three of the others burst into giggles. "Sit down, wanker. Enjoy the day. Take another toke." England looked around vaguely for the joint but didn't see it. "Who's got the stuff?"

"We finished it," Denmark laughed. "Want another?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Romano yelled, and Prussia yanked him down onto his lap.

"Stop yelling. Wow, I don't remember you being this lively any other time I ever saw you high. Too bad you can't be like this all the time. It would be awesome."

"Awesome, awesome, awesome," Denmark sang out, lighting up.

For a while there was silence; Romano continued sitting on Prussia's lap, and they shared the joint. He had to laugh at the goofy little smile on England's face; no one would ever suspect that loony-looking bastard had been such a fearsome pirate. The half-nation giggled a little.

After a few more minutes of silence England suddenly asked, "Why are you sitting on Gilbert's lap?"

Denmark started howling at that, and eventually leaned over so far that he was lying on the cold, hard ground.

Romano sniffed. "He's _comfortable_."

"Kesesese!"

But the brunet hopped up. "I want to climb the tree."

"Go for it." Den waved at the tree. "Be careful."

"I'm careful, you idiot." Though he made several attempts to get up to the lowest branch of the tree, he couldn't make it, so he turned and gave Denmark a pleading look. "Give me a boost, bastard?"

England and Prussia laughed together, quietly, as Denmark hoisted the half-nation up into the tree. "That okay?"

Romano gave him a thumbs-up. "Awesome," he grinned, climbing up a few branches. His friends all watched.

When he found a comfortable branch he sat on it, turning to look down at them. "You bastards all look really little."

Nobody answered that, but Prussia said, "Romano has such sparkly hair."

"He does, doesn't he?" England began to pet Prussia's hair. "Soft, too."

"Shut up about my hair, dammit," Romano giggled, and then he fell out of the tree. "Ow! Dammit!"

"Bet that hurt," Denmark said idly, but nobody got up to check on him.

"Bastards." But he got up and checked himself. "Nope. All okay." He spun in place again. "Come on, you dozy idiots, get up and let's walk around or something."

"Should we get up and walk around, Lucy?"

"Oh, Ethel. Sure. That okay with you, Denmark?"

"'S okay with me."

The three more mellow bastards got up lazily. Romano stalked off down the street and turned back only to find they were still standing together in a group; Prussia was trying to fix his hair, and England was trying to ride piggyback on Denmark. "Come on, slackers!"

"We're slackers," he heard Prussia say.

"And proud of it!" Denmark hoisted England up onto his back and they finally came along to join Romano.

"We should make Arthur an – uh – "

"A what, albino potato?"

"I forget what I was going to say," he admitted with a grin. "But it's all right. My awesome brain will eventually remember."

England reached down from his perch on Den's back and patted Prussia's shoulder. "It always does."

"It always does," everyone agreed solemnly.

"I'm hungry," Prussia told them.

"Me too. Let's get something to eat." Denmark headed down a street.

Romano hadn't realized how hungry he was until the albino potato had said that. "Food," he said, "food. Chips."

"Fish and chips!"

"Idiot. There won't be fish and chips here."

"Git."

They found a little shop and bought quite a selection of snack bags and sodas, which they took outside to munch on. For a while, the sound of crinkling wrappers and crunching chips was overpowering, though no one spoke.

"Chips," Prussia said, peering into an empty chip bag. "All gone."

"No chips." Denmark waggled his half-full chip bag at Prussia. "I have chips."

"You have chips?" Prussia put on a silly look, batting his eyelashes. "Share your chips with me, Den?"

"I'm going to hurl," England announced, throwing his chip bag down.

"What? Bastard, get a grip on yourself!"

But England was laughing. "I meant because Gilbert's acting like a bloody teenage girl. _Preteen_ girl. Oh, Denmark," he went on, in a freakish falsetto, "please spare some chips for me?"

"No." Den handed the bag to Prussia. "Here you go, Teutonic, uh, whatever. Eat all the chips you want."

"What? I don't want any chips." The albino pushed the bag away.

"Bastard."

"Are we done with these snacks? I can drive now," Denmark pointed out. "Maybe we should go back to my place so you can unpack and whatever."

Romano realized his high was fading, too. "Sure, bastard, whatever. You all right?" he asked England.

"Eh. Yeah." He picked up all the snack trash and threw it in a nearby bin. "Come on, Gilbert, shift that albino arse and let's get going."

"Okay. Wow, did we have an awesome day or what?" Prussia slowly reverted to his normal self, bouncing, grinning and monopolizing the conversation, as they headed back to Denmark's car.

Romano took a deep breath. Yeah, it was fun to get high with his friends, but being sober was better. Almost as soon as he'd finished that thought, England scooped him up for a piggyback ride. "Bastard, are you still wasted or what?"

"Not much. Just happy." He craned his head back to look at the brunet. "Aren't you?"

Denmark and Prussia turned back to hear his answer. Romano smiled fondly at them all and replied, "Yes, bastard, I'm happy. Come on. Let's have an awesome Christmas vacation together."

"Kesesese!"


	136. Danish Treats

_All the pastries are defined in the footnotes._

 _..._

 **Danish Treats.**

"So, I remembered what my awesome brain was trying to say yesterday when we were high." Prussia fiddled with the sugar bowl as Romano entered the kitchen. "About Arthur."

"Yeah? What about him, bastard?" Romano collapsed into a chair, groaning.

Denmark was at the coffee machine. "What's the matter with you? Just tired? I know we're all up a little too early for you." He grinned and brought the pot of coffee to the table.

"Ah, no. I ache all over from falling out of that stupid tree."

"Kesesese!" Prussia punched him.

"Ow, dammit. What's the matter with you, you moron? I just said I hurt all over!"

"Hey, we're the fighting fucking boozers, Romano. It's too early for boozing or – or – anything else. We might as well fight." Prussia's pale cheeks were red after this comment.

"Dammit." Romano's cheeks flamed too. He grabbed a cup of coffee and began to drink it desperately. "What the fuck were you going to say about England?"

"What? Oh. Oh, yeah. Where is he, anyway?"

"Pfft. Still snoozing, I bet," Den laughed.

"Yes. Lazy-ass bastard. I'll go give him a smack when breakfast is over."

Denmark pushed a plate of assorted pastries towards them. "Here. These are some of our best things."

"Huh. What are they?" Romano gave the plate the once-over.

The host nation itemized each item on the plate. " _Hindbærsnitter, Snegle, Kanelstang_."

"Man, I love your baked goods, Denny." Prussia grabbed one of each.

"Bastard, you're the fucking Albino Pig." More calmly, Romano took a _Kanelstang_ and sniffed it. "Cinnamon?"

"Yep!" Denmark took one of everything, too, and when Romano scowled at him he just laughed. "Ah, just eat, all right? There's plenty more, or if you want, we can go to a bakery today and get other things."

"Mm, mm, mm," Prussia agreed, licking his fingers clean, sounding like he was in the throes of lovemaking. "You have the best baked stuff ever. The most awesome, the most – "

"Yeah, shut up!" Romano punched him and Prussia laughed, reaching for his next pastry. "But – yeah, I don't mind visiting a bakery. I, uh, I always like to see what kinds of things other nations come up with." He sipped coffee and delicately nibbled on his _Kanelstang_. "Except the fucking Germans, of course," he clarified.

"You really know how to hurt me," Prussia moaned, but with a grin. He drank some coffee. "Now are you two going to shut up so I can talk about Arthur?"

"Talk, then." Denmark poured more coffee.

"I think we should make him an honorary Skirmish Brother, since he hangs out with us all the time."

"Sure, bastard."

"What? We can't do that!" Denmark gave them both funny looks.

"Why not?"

"W-w-well, for one thing, he – he doesn't drink coffee! He only drinks tea."

Prussia poked him. "That's not strictly a rule, you know. And anyway, he drinks coffee sometimes. He did get sauced that one night with the rest of us, remember? I mean, not as bad as _you_ did, but…"

Denmark looked a little discomfited. "He, uh, well, he also doesn't like to fight."

Both Romano and Prussia stopped eating and stared at him, Prussia with his mouth hanging open unattractively. "Hello? Hello? Where is the real Denmark, please?" He flicked Den in the forehead. "This is terrible, Romano. Aliens have captured Den and left us with this lifelike robot."

"No shit" was all Romano could say.

"What? What are you two staring at? You know he's always trying to be a peacekeeper around us."

"You're completely insane, Den. I bet we can get Arthur to start – to _start_ , not just to participate in – at least three little fights, or one big one. Today."

"I agree," Romano hastily said, shaking Prussia's hand. "He fights all the time."

"Kesesese! You taking our bet, Den?"

"Hell, yes. You know he won't start a fight around us. To win this bet, _he_ has to start them. You can't goad him into it by starting a fight."

"Agreed." Everyone shook hands and began to eat breakfast, although Romano kept shaking his head sadly.

…

England was too cheerful after his lie-in. Romano stomped along beside him, grumpy, wearing his Skirmish Brothers hat. Luckily neither Den nor the albino potato had decided to wear theirs today. He would have felt like a fucking idiot in matching hats.

"So, where are we going today, gits?"

"Bakeries!" Prussia leaped into the air and did a little twirl.

"Bakeries? All day?" The island nation wrinkled his nose. "Not that I don't like your bakeries, Denmark, but – why are we spending the whole day at bakeries?"

"Dammit, we're not spending the whole fucking day in bakeries." Romano punched England in the arm and ignored Denmark's warning glare. He knew a simple punch would not be enough to get England fighting.

"Oh. Well, I don't really mind, but…it just seemed a little weird, that's all." He took Romano's hand.

"You need to get up earlier if you want any input on our daily activities." Prussia grinned at him.

"Bloody hell, Gilbert. It's bad enough that Romano came upstairs and brutalized me until I got out of bed! Shut it." But after this brief flare-up the blond settled his ruffled feathers and continued walking.

"Sorry I pummeled you, bastard."

"Eh. Whatever. Are we just going to eat at bakeries all day, or take tours or something? What exactly is the point of all the bakery rubbish?"

"Whatever you like, Ethel dear," Prussia replied, tickling him under the chin.

"Bollocks! Will you lay off me?" He let go of Romano and glared at the albino. "Just – just leave me alone!" But then he settled down again. "Git."

"There might be a problem," Prussia realized.

Denmark was laughing. "There's no problem at all, Teutonic Pig."

"Shut up, Den!" Prussia scowled and hit him.

Denmark kept laughing. "You know I'm right. Aren't I right, Romano?"

"Fuck."

…

"I don't like this pastry shite," England grumbled after a tour. "Give me a full English any day."

Romano looked at him strangely. "A full English what?" He turned a little red.

"Kesesese! A 'full English' means all the English breakfast stuff! Eggs, bacon, grilled tomato, fried bread –"

"Fried mushrooms, black pudding," Denmark interrupted.

"Bubble and squeak… _eggs…_ " The island nation had a dreamy expression on his face. " _That's_ what I call breakfast. Not these girly little pastries."

"My _girly little pastries_ are a staple of the Danish diet! Not all those artery-clogging eggs and shit!"

Prussia and Romano both held their breath. This sounded promising.

But no. "Maybe so," England replied pleasantly. "Though all the sugar in the baked goods is just as bad for you. Ask America."

"We work it off," the host nation countered. "Not like you paunchy islanders."

"Paunchy! Why the bloody hell is everyone calling me paunchy these days?" England looked down and poked himself experimentally in the gut. "Romano, am I really paunchy? Doesn't seem like it."

Romano was torn. If he said yes, it might prompt his boyfriend to start a fight, so they could win the bet. On the other hand, he'd be lying outright. England wasn't paunchy at all. Quite the contrary. "Ahem. No. Not paunchy." He felt his face burning and rubbed a hand over it.

"Kesesese! You might _get_ paunchy, though, if you keep eating all that fried breakfast junk. Better watch it, Arthur."

Seeming reassured, England took Romano's hand once more. "All the same, I don't really feel like I've started the day right, without eggs in the meal somewhere. Danish pastries are nice, but they're not – not solid enough."

"Den's solid enough. Check this out!" Prussia poked him in the stomach. Nothing happened. "Ow," the albino said, massaging his finger.

"Yeah, well, bastard, we all know about Denmark's amazing solid abs. Shut up about it."

"Party pooper." Prussia did a handspring in the road.

"Come on. The next bakery's up ahead." Denmark pointed, and they made their way towards it.

…

The day did eventually turn out to be all about bakery tours, but nobody really had a problem with it. Except Romano, who was worrying about the bet. Several hours later, England was looking a little twitchy, but hadn't yet started a fight!

At the last bakery, most of the other tour patrons had already filtered out of the room, leaving the nations on one side of the serving counter, with the anxious chief baker and the tour guide, who was idly munching on a sandwich, behind it. The chief baker kept fiddling with his cooking implements, adjusting bowls of ingredients, and pacing, in a way that clearly said "Get out of here so I can get back to work." But Den wasn't paying attention, and the albino potato wouldn't bother anyway.

Romano sighed and leaned against the counter. "Why are you trying so hard to hold on to your temper?" he hissed to England. He didn't worry about Prussia or Denmark hearing him, because they were both busy sampling the goodies twenty feet away; periodically the albino potato let out a belch or a "kesesese" which may or may not have been muffled by a mouthful of pastry. Loud ceiling fans were running to keep fresh air circulating.

England lowered his voice, too. "I'm a guest at Denmark's home! Why should I throw some kind of a tantrum?"

Amazingly, despite all the ambient noise and Denmark's attention to the baked goods, he heard that. "Romano! Forget it! All bets are off," he laughed.

" _What?_ " the island nation screeched. "You were making bets about me again? Bloody hell, Romano!" He picked up a pastry and smashed it into Romano's face. "I hate it when you wankers do this!"

"Dammit!" Romano groped for a loaf of _Franskbrød_ and began whacking him with it.

"Awesome! Bun fight!" Prussia grabbed some _Boller_ and started flinging them at the two combatants. The chief baker fainted behind the counter, and the tour guide dropped his sandwich on the floor and crouched down next to him – perhaps to revive him, or perhaps simply to escape the flying pastry.

England kept scooping up sticky pastries and rubbing them in Romano's face, or on his uniform, and occasionally flinging them in Prussia's general direction, where more often than not they stuck to him before flopping onto the pristine white floor. "Bloody gits!"

"Bastard, stop with the fucking pastry!" Romano yelled, just before Prussia beaned him with a loaf of _Rugbrød_. "And you, dammit! Stop!"

Denmark, standing well back from the fight, lazily ate a few _Kaj-kager_ while he watched, grinning. "I'm telling you, all bets are off!"

Romano stopped fighting and Prussia slipped on a _Kanelstang_ , knocking the brunet down with a fresh _Hindbærsnit_. "Ow! Stupid bastard."

"Sorry, Romano." Prussia rolled off him and sat up. "Now we're all going to be bruised tomorrow."

"What the hell were you gits betting on?" England flung one last pastry at Prussia in disgust.

"Oh, stop, Arthur." The ex-nation stood up and tried to brush himself clean.

"Oh…" Romano moaned; getting hit by a flying albino was not helping his bruises. "Dammit." He lay back on the floor and used his Skirmish Brothers hat to wipe his face clean.

"Romano! Romano, don't use your awesome hat for that! It'll get stained, and you'll never get it clean again." Prussia nudged him with his foot. England did the same, though he was probably just pissed off at having his fancy knitting all fucked up with pastry goo.

"Bastards. All of you."

Denmark, having polished off the last of the little cakes, wandered over, dusting crumbs off his hands. "You guys are a mess," he laughed, staring at them with hands on hips.

"We're really sorry, Den." Prussia helped Romano off the floor and the three of them grinned at Denmark from behind their messy, sheepish faces. "Go!" the albino yelled, and they immediately began pelting him with the remains of the baked goods.

Aided by the tour guide, the chief baker stood up, took one look at the carnage, and flung a fresh tray full of _Napoleons hatte_ at them. _"_ _Get out of my kitchen!_ _"_

…

 _ **Hindbærsnitter**_ _= two layers of cake with raspberry jam between, then glazed and topped with sprinkles._

 _ **Kaj-kager**_ _= Kaj-cakes. Kaj is a name. There's a Danish children's show with a frog (Kaj) and parrot (Andrea) and_ Forever-Awesome94 _thinks that's where the name is from._

 _ **Boller**_ _= Buns_

 _ **Kanelstang**_ _= cinnamon bar_

 _ **Sandwichs**_

 _ **Franskbrød**_ _= white bread_

 _ **Rugbrød**_ _= rye bread_

 _ **Napoleons hatte**_ _= Napoleon's hats. These are basic sugar cookies with a marzipan ball placed in the center, then shaped like Napoleon's hat._

 _ **Snegle**_ _= cinnamon snails_


	137. Settling Down

**Settling Down.**

The four nations headed back towards Denmark's house, limping and grumbling; both Denmark and Romano were still trying to finger-comb pastry filling out of their hair. "What the hell were you wankers betting on, anyway?" the island nation snapped.

Prussia, also covered in pastry but apparently not giving a damn, put his arm around England's shoulders. "Arthur, my dear, Romano and I wanted to make you an awesome Skirmish Brother."

England stared blankly at him. Should he be offended because his old friend Denmark apparently didn't want this? Should he be affronted because they had made a bet about it? Or – "Wait. What did you actually bet on? I don't understand."

"Bastard, Den didn't think you liked to fight." Both Prussia and Romano smirked at that.

"What? Is this the real Denmark?" England asked, poking him in the back, causing laughter from his other two friends. "How could you even think that? After all the time you and I spent fighting each other? We've been fighting since the 8th century!" he scowled.

"Yeah, _then_ we were!" Denmark bellowed. "Not _now!"_ He spun and grabbed England by the shoulders to shake him. "I'm talking about now, you idiot!"

"Get your hands off me!" England thundered back. Romano rushed to pull him away from their host; Prussia mirrored these actions, grabbing Denmark and pulling him away.

"Will you two settle down? Kesesese! This is Christmas vacation, peace and harmony between brothers, and all that." He patted the still-irate England on the head. "We know you awesomely love to fight."

"We know you fight awesomely," Romano added with a grin.

This did not seem to appease either of the combatants, so Prussia tried a different tack. "He got you mad, didn't he, Den?" When Denmark grudgingly nodded, the albino cackled, "That makes two fights! And that first one was a doozy, you have to admit. Arthur can definitely skirmish with the best of us."

"Whatever," Den said.

"Why are you so against this, anyway?" Romano wondered. "Do you dislike him that much? I warn you, Den, I'm not breaking up with him just to make you happy." He and England both snorted, and the blond put his arm around Romano. Denmark didn't answer, but he did take Prussia's hand and appeared to settle down.

"If you're going to make me a bloody Skirmish Brother, I think Romano should become a Fail Brother."

"Yes!" Prussia jumped in the air and turned to face them. "Awesome! Den, wouldn't that be awesome? Romano's a failure as a brother too, right?"

"What the fuck are you talking about? _Chigi!_ " The brunet punched Prussia in the arm, and then turned to scowl at his boyfriend. "What the fuck is a Fail Brother?"

England grinned. "We are," he said, gesturing towards Prussia and Den. "The three of us."

"What the hell for? I mean, obviously the albino potato is a failure as a brother. I don't even need to ask about _that_."

"Kesesese."

"What about you, though?" He poked England.

"Ever hear of a little git named America?"

"Oh. Don't remind me about that oblivious bastard. Well, but what about Den? You have brothers? That's news to me."

"Romano, you idiot. All the Nordics are Den's little brothers. Except they don't want to admit it." Prussia patted the spiky blond hair; Denmark was still grumpy, and scowled. "That's why he's a failure."

"H-how? I mean, how is that true, but also, how the hell did I never know about this?"

"Because you live with your head buried in the fucking _sand_?" Denmark snapped. "Until we got to know you, I never saw you pay attention to anything!"

"Shut up!" Romano tried to kick him and missed. "The fucking potato bastard was taking everything over! Anybody would want to hide from that kind of shit."

"Now I see where the term 'Skirmish' comes from," England mused, not meeting anyone's eye. This made Prussia laugh, and even Denmark finally cracked a smile. Romano, however, was still irritated, and kicked the island nation. "Ow. Git."

"So you bastards think I'm a failure of a brother?"

No one answered him; Prussia even began whistling a little abstract tune.

"Eh, forget it. Romano can stay a Skirmish Brother and I'll stay a Fail Brother and then Denmark will be happy. Right?" England walked up to the Dane and hugged him around the waist from behind, planting a loud theatrical kiss on the back of his neck. "Right?" He hugged tighter. Bloody hell, those abs _were_ solid!

"Sure," Denmark finally laughed. "Come on home. We need to talk about tomorrow." He pulled England around beside him, slinging his arm around the shorter blond's shoulder, and the two of them walked ahead of the others, giggling and whispering cozily all the way back.

"Couple of fucking idiots."

"Kesesese!"

…

Clean and lazy, the four of them sprawled on couches in Denmark's living room. "I love this couch," England sighed, and Romano burst out laughing.

"Yeah, this is a… _nice couch_ ," he agreed.

"Goes with the food fight theme, too," England pointed out.

"True, true. And you know, it was a cake theme today, too, bastard!"

"Why, Romano, I hadn't even realized that." England scooped up Romano's legs and turned him sideways, so they could snuggle closer. "You're so bloody observant."

Prussia and Denmark stared in confusion. "What? What?" the albino asked.

"Never mind, albino potato."

"From our kissing lessons," England added, pecking a little kiss on Romano's cheek.

"Chigi!" He swiped at it with the back of his hand. "Stop."

"I'm glad you two still like my couches," Denmark said, "but, uh, what the hell does that have to do with food fights?" He scratched his head.

"Er – er – nothing," England stammered. Romano rubbed a hand over his face and didn't speak.

For a minute, silence reigned, while Prussia and Denmark tried to stare their friends out of countenance, but it did not work. Romano and England remained strong. "Well, whatever, bastards. What are we doing tomorrow?"

"Legoland!" Prussia yelled, hugging Den. "Awesome Legoland."

"Dammit," Romano sighed, but he was cuddled up to England and too cozy to get really pissed off. "I'm telling you, a little kids' park is going to be super boring!"

"Don't be rude to Denmark," the island nation cautioned. "You'll go, and you'll like it."

"I hate you."

"Hate you too, sweet thing." England kissed his cheek. "Hate you with all my heart."

Romano blushed, but did not wipe the kiss away.

"Kesesese! Okay, well, that's all settled, so what should we do for dinner tonight? Cake?"

Everyone else groaned. "I need some meat, Gilbert. Fish. _Something_ of substance. Den?"

"I agree with you, my pacifist island friend. We should go out to a nice Danish restaurant."

"Fine by me, bastards. If the albino potato can live without cake –"

"Believe me, Romano, cake was just a joke. I never want to see another pastry as long as I live."

"Well, then, let's get moving. We can talk more about my Legoland over dinner."

The four nations got up and went in search of a nice Danish restaurant.


	138. Legoland

**Legoland.**

"Good morning, everyone," Prussia said, skipping into the kitchen. "Got some awesome cakes for us, Den?"

If he thought to irritate Arthur or Romano with that statement, he failed. Each of them already had coffee and a half-eaten pastry before him. "Good morning, git," England yawned.

"You'd better wake up. Don't want to be snoozing around Legoland." Prussia drew up a chair and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Have a cake," Romano suggested snarkily.

"Not me! Rye bread all the way, today. Toast me some rye bread, Den."

"Toast your own damn rye bread!" Denmark threw the uncut loaf at his head, but Prussia caught it.

"Wow, are you touchy! What's the matter with you?" He began slicing bread.

"Nothing. I didn't invite you idiots here so I could be a slave to your eating whims, you know."

"Technically you didn't even invite us here, bastard. It was the Teutonic Potato's idea."

"And it was Gilbert's idea to do bakery tours, too, right? Am I right?"

"You're right," Romano sighed.

"Anyway, I won't be snoozing around Legoland and neither will Romano. We both had a really good night's sleep."

"Kesesese!" Prussia put his bread in the toaster. "We didn't. Maybe that's why Den's so sour."

"Shut up!" the other three yelled.

"You three have the worst Christmas spirit of anybody I ever saw. I mean, I can understand it from Arthur, home of Ebenezer Scrooge, but what about you two?" While he waited for the toast to pop up, Prussia grinned at his friends.

"No reason," Denmark said. "Maybe I just need more coffee." He poured himself another cup. "But that reminds me, does anyone need to do Christmas shopping? I want to decorate the house soon, but we only have a few shopping days left until the actual day."

"I'm done," England told him.

"I – I'm done," Romano stammered in turn. "I think."

"What do you mean, _you think?_ " Den poked him. "Going to suddenly change your mind?"

"Well – well – well, maybe! Dammit! Just leave me alone."

"Yeah, all right."

The toast popped up and Prussia came back to the table and buttered it. "Mm. Best rye bread ever. It's even better than West's."

"Hah," Romano started, but Denmark elbowed him and interrupted.

"Thanks, Prussia. Now hurry it up."

"Kesesese!"

Everyone finished up breakfast and helped Denmark wash up. "Are we ready to go?"

Since the answer was a resounding "yes," they all grabbed coats and hats to leave for Legoland.

…

Romano remained grumpy right up until they entered the park. Even though it was cold out, he was happy that his fancy hat had gotten all messed up yesterday, because both his friends were wearing theirs. They looked like idiots and he didn't feel the need to be in a trio of idiots! Two of them were bad enough, especially with the damn beads all over the albino potato's hat. "Well? Where the hell do we start?"

"There's an Italian restaurant right here," Prussia pointed out.

"You are the world's biggest git. We just had breakfast!"

"Hey, hey! Stop that unawesome yelling, Arthur."

"Besides, bastards, who the hell knows what an Italian restaurant, in a Danish kids' park, would even be like? Probably not very Italian at all." Though Romano did plan to take a peek later. Just because the stupid potato bastards fucked up pasta didn't mean everyone else would.

"Let's go through Miniland," Den suggested.

Romano scowled. "What the fuck's that?"

"Didn't you do _any_ research? It's a little world built of Legos! Come on, we can see all our favorite nations in miniature, kesesese."

"There's no Prussia in Miniland, is there, Den?" Romano whispered.

"I heard that!"

"Come on, gits, move along." The friends entered the Miniland area.

Romano managed to tune out the ceaseless albino potato commentary as they walked. Despite himself, he was actually quite intrigued by the intricacy of the Miniland construction. Though he avoided the Germany section, he stopped periodically to trail his fingers over the tiny bricks that people had worked so hard to turn into replicas of cities and countries; listened to the happy comments of children and their parents as they wandered through the area. He had to admit that the builders had done a fantastic job. All those bricks built into such recognizable replicas! Every now and then he'd make a comment, only halfheartedly paying attention to the responses.

By the time they'd wandered all around Miniland he realized he hadn't heard much out of Prussia lately. Or, for that matter, anyone else. He glanced up from the Los Angeles exhibit and didn't even see them! What the hell? Had they abandoned him? Or maybe they were dawdling through the exhibit.

The half-nation turned to look and saw Denmark leaning against a lamppost, arms crossed, eyes closed. He walked over to him. "Hey, Den! Wake up!" This was strange.

Denmark opened his eyes and yawned. "Oh. You done?"

"Where the hell is everybody?"

"Come on. We're meeting them for lunch." He checked his watch.

"Lunch? _Lunch?_ We just had breakfast!"

"Yeah, about three hours ago! Romano, you were poking around Miniland for so long they got bored and went off to ride the pirate rides!" Denmark laughed and ruffled his hair, and the scowling brunet smoothed it back down. "I guess you really do like little kids' parks."

"Shut up. Where the fuck is the pirate place?"

"Yeah, come on." Denmark grabbed his arm. "Uh, better warn you, there's a fish and chips place here."

"Oh, _no._ "

"Oh, yes!" Both of them rolled their eyes, but didn't discuss this topic further.

When they finally got to the pirate area, Prussia was sprawled on a bench, half asleep. "Hey, potato brain, where's England?"

"On the pirate ride," the albino yawned. "Again."

"What do you mean, _again?_ "

"Kesesese! He's been on it four times already. I went on it the first two times but it wasn't worth doing more than that. Have a seat." He scooted over to make room for his friends on the bench. "Have fun in Miniland?"

Romano blushed. "Well – well, it was kind of interesting," he admitted.

"Aw."

The Italian was surprised that he didn't give him any more shit than that, though Prussia did put his arm around him. He sighed. Denmark sat on his other side and they watched people for a while. "What else are we going to do? After we eat." Romano then asked.

"Monorail? We can see the whole park and figure out what to do."

"Yeah, that's a good idea. Gives us time to digest our lunch."

"Kesesese! You know Arthur's going to want fish and chips."

"I know, bastard, I know." Romano ran a hand through his hair. Was it getting colder? Now he almost – _almost_ wished he had his hat.

In a few minutes England came stumbling down the pathway, laughing and waving. "I love that bloody ride," he beamed. "Romano! You're finally done with Miniland? Thought you'd be there all day long."

"Bastard," Romano countered. "Thought you'd be on the fucking pirate ride all day."

"Well, I would, if we weren't going to lunch. Going to the Italian place, gits?"

All three of his friends stared in disbelief. England gently reached out and closed Prussia's gaping jaw. "What's the matter with you wankers?"

"Uh, uh, nothing," Romano said hastily. "Hurry up, bastards, let's get to the Italian place fast!"

"Right!" Denmark and Prussia leaped up and frog-marched England away from the fish and chips restaurant as fast as they could go.

…

"This Italian place is pretty good," Denmark said. "If I do have to say so myself."

But England and Prussia, both of whom were frequent eaters of home-cooked meals by either the now-disgusted Romano, or his equally talented brother, had to disagree. "It's bad, Den. This is typical amusement park food. Pricey and overcooked."

"Like that garbage we had in Japan." England poked Romano.

"Hah, this isn't _that_ bad. At least I can eat it." Romano followed every mouthful with a generous swig of sparkling water, though.

"I – I don't know what to say," Denmark stammered. "I really thought it was good!"

"Don't worry about it, bastard. Nobody's pasta is as good as mine. I'll make dinner for us one night," Romano promised. "Then you can see the difference."

"Taste the difference, kesesese. But yeah, I'd love a home-cooked meal made by you, Romano, dear."

"Shut up about it or I won't do it."

The albino nodded sadly. "All right. Hey, I was wondering about something else. Remember when we were in Estonia? We said we wanted to go back sometime."

"Uh. You're talking about next year's vacations already?" Den flicked Prussia in the head.

"Ow. Well, no. I was thinking we could go over there on Boxing Day, or whatever they call it. Cheer him up a bit. I heard from Canada that they were dating, but Canada broke up with him. So Estonia might be kind of lonely."

"That's a nice thought, albino potato, but…one day isn't going to do much. I thought we wanted to go spend a lot of time there to do really thorough sightseeing?"

Meanwhile, England, who had no idea what they were talking about, put his head down on the table, next to his bad pasta. Romano patted him on the head, but kept talking; the island nation kept his head down.

"You're right. Well, it was just a thought."

"Canada and Estonia would have made a pretty cute couple," Denmark considered. "Wonder why they broke up?"

"No idea," Prussia said. "But I did see Estonia with China at the pen meeting." He grinned. "That was an awesome meeting."

"Did you pay back all the pen buyers?" Romano wondered, kicking him.

"No way! They paid me fair and square for those cheap pens. I invested the money so I'd have some for this vacation."

"Good. Buy me a souvenir hat, bastard."

"What? What for? What about your awesome – oh, right, it's covered in icing, isn't it. Well, all right. You're my friend and I'll buy you a souvenir hat from Legoland to commemorate this beautiful day. We can go there when we leave the restaurant."

Romano poked the pasta around on his plate for a little while but just couldn't make himself eat it, so they decided to leave. England paid the bill and they went outside, only to find it pouring down rain.

"Damn."

"Oh, Den, don't sweat it. Let's go to the shop for Romano's hat and then we can go home. Okay? We can always come back some other day."

Denmark hugged him. "Thanks, Teutonic Knights. You're so amenable."

Romano rolled his eyes. "Don't start that again. Come on. Let's go to the shop." He took England's hand and led him inside.

While Prussia and Romano browsed the souvenir hats – and Prussia tried on every style they had – England studied the park map to see if there was anything else, besides the pirate ride, that he'd want to come back for. "Bloody hell, you gits!" he roared, frightening a lot of shop patrons. "There's a fish and chips restaurant here!"

"Whoops! Come on, Romano, quick; let's get out of here! Kesesese!"


	139. Plans and Bets

**Plans and Bets.**

"Where's Arthur?"

"Sick in bed," Denmark told Prussia, handing him the loaf of rye bread again. "Romano thinks it was the pasta."

"I don't know; he might be faking it for sympathy since we didn't get to go to the fucking fish and chips place. But if he's faking it, he's really being thorough; the poor bastard's been groaning all night."

"Kesesese! I know how that is."

"Albino potato, will you _please_ shut up about that shit?"

"I meant because I eat bad stuff sometimes! Boy, Romano, your mind is always in the gutter."

"Bastard."

"Anyway," Denmark said, laughing, "want to go out shopping today? England said he didn't need to get anything, but I thought the three of us could get whatever last minute stuff we need, and enjoy the Strøget area. Looks like we'll have a nice day, no rain predicted."

"Sounds all right to me." Prussia pushed the loaf of bread around on the table. "Got any _Hindb_ _æ_ _rsnitter_? I love those things."

"Yesterday you said 'rye bread all the way'!" Romano scowled.

"Ah, I just feel like having something sweet."

"You need it." The half-nation reached for the knife and sliced some rye bread. "How is this stuff when it's toasted, anyway?"

Denmark made a face. "I bet it tastes awful. Like a rock, and hard to eat! It's meant for lunch or dinner, with savory foods. If people eat it for breakfast it would be with Nutella. But not toasted."

"Better Nutella than Marmite," Romano muttered. "Why would this taste awful, though? It's just bread." He put two slices in the toaster; might as well experiment.

"Den always complains when I toast it, but boy, with butter, warm and right out of the toaster, it's good!" Prussia got up to rummage around in a cabinet for the pastries.

"Well, I'll try it. I'll be the objective judge." Romano nodded just as the toast popped up. He brought it back to the table.

Prussia had returned to sit down with coffee and a pastry. He and Denmark watched carefully as Romano buttered the toast and then took a bite.

"Well?" the albino asked eagerly. "Good, isn't it?"

Romano swallowed before answering. "Seriously? It's a really good flavor. Nicely crunchy, not hard at all. Come on, Den. Here. Just have a bite of mine."

Denmark made the face again.

"Come on, Den!" Prussia poked him. "A big strong Viking like you can't handle a little toasted rye bread?"

"Hah. When you put it that way…" He opened his mouth and Romano held the toast out. Then Denmark took a bite of toast.

Romano and Prussia both held their breath, although Romano was still crunching the last little bit of his previous toast bite.

"Wow!" Den said. "Surprising. I did not think it would be that edible. I may have some of that myself."

"See! Keep an open mind." Prussia patted his hair.

"Get your pastry hands out of my hair."

"Kesesese! All right. Well, hurry up with the toast so we can go shopping."

"Yes, sir."

…

Prussia dragged Denmark off to the side for a minute. "Take Romano off somewhere, okay? I need to get something and I don't want him to see."

"Okay. Where should we meet you?" They looked around.

"Hmm. Outside City Hall? I only need about fifteen minutes."

"Sure," Den whispered. "We'll go on ahead. See you there." Something occurred to him. "Make sure the store doesn't give you a bag with their logo on it."

"Ooh! Good thinking, awesome one. Okay. See you in fifteen minutes."

"Wait!" Denmark fished for his wallet. "The Lego store is down that street," he pointed out. "Will you stop in there and buy a bunch of assorted bricks? Just plain ones, but in different colors. I want to build something for under the tree." He handed his friend some bills.

"Yeah! Cool. I'll get a bunch." Prussia scooted off down a side street and Denmark hurried back to Romano.

"What the fuck's that all about?"

"Just needs to take care of something. Ahem. Come on, let's go on ahead. There's nothing around here but restaurants."

"Oh, that reminds me. If we can stop at a grocery store I can get the ingredients for dinner tonight."

"Good idea. Let's wait until Teutonic Knights catches up, though, so he can carry stuff."

Romano snickered. "He can carry all of it."

They went into a clothing store, just to browse. "That Legoland hat looks really cute on you," Denmark now told him, patting him on said hat.

Instead of cursing and scowling, Romano posed attractively in his Legoland hat, winking and flashing him the victory sign. "Thanks, Den." He blew the Viking a kiss.

A few teenage girls behind a rack of clothing began tittering at them. Denmark raised an eyebrow and hugged Romano, and the girls squealed and ran away. "Pfft. Teen magnet, I'm telling you," Den laughed.

"Shut up about it." Ah, that was normal Romano.

"Are you all done with your shopping?"

"Yeah. Let's go meet up with the albino potato."

They went outside, where Prussia was waiting with a maniacal grin on his face and two big plain white bags, and they headed to the grocery store.

"Is there anywhere else in specific you'd like to see in my country?" Den asked, as they walked along with their packages.

"England wanted to go to that military museum," Romano remembered. "And – and I wouldn't really mind doing that pirate ship thing." He blushed and wouldn't meet the eyes of the other two, who looked at each other and grinned at this sign of affection.

"Sounds okay to me. I'd like to go to the Tivoli someday," Prussia decided. "It's not such a _kids' place_ ," he laughed, poking Romano as best he could with hands full of shopping bags.

"We should go to Skagen, too. It'll be cold, but it's a great place." Denmark took a bag from Prussia so he wouldn't be so laden down.

"Thanks. Hey, yeah. I bet Romano's never been there. We can go snorkeling!"

"Are you nuts? Your brain really has turned to potato mush. It's freezing, Idiotic Knights."

"Well, but in good wetsuits we could stay warm. What do you think, Den? Snorkeling off Grenen? Maybe at midnight! Kesesese!"

Romano rolled his eyes, but Denmark considered it. "Depends. If everybody wants to, then fine. If not…no. I'm not going to force anyone."

Both he and Prussia checked to see Romano's reaction. "England won't do it," he muttered.

"Arthur awesomely will do it! He's so adventurous. Want to have a bet? Loser has to…decorate the tree all by himself. While Den supervises."

"Uh, well, all right, bastard. I'll take that bet. If he wants to go snorkeling at midnight, in Den's fucking freezing water, then I'll decorate the tree. If not, you do it."

"Okay!" They shook hands. "Now let's get home before my arms fall off from carrying all these bags."

"Romano wants to get groceries to make dinner, though," Denmark reminded them.

"Oh. Right. Okay, let's go."

…

When they got back to Denmark's house, England was lying on his favorite couch, reading.

"Arthur!" Prussia tried to wave with his hands full of bags.

"Hey, gits. Have a good day?"

"Not bad," Romano conceded. "How are you feeling?" He let Den and Prussia take the groceries into the kitchen while he came to sit down.

"I'm better now. Whew. Guess I really have to start being careful about what I eat." He hugged the brunet.

Romano smoothed the hair off his forehead and, after checking the room to make sure they were alone, planted a little kiss there. "I'm making dinner tonight. You'll be a hundred percent safe."

"Mm. That sounds great." They got off the couch and headed into the kitchen.

"So, England," Denmark said, as they unpacked the food items. "You said you wanted to go to Aalborg one day. Is there anything else you'd like to do?"

England considered this. "Well, Tivoli's always good."

"Kesesese! I already said that. Plus we might go up to Skagen."

"Hey, yes!" The blond beamed. "I haven't been there in a long time. Too bad it's too cold to go swimming." He turned to Romano. "Two seas meet, so you can swim from one to the other. Multiculturalism at its best."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Get me a big knife, Den."

"Going to stab Arthur for talking about swimming during this cold season? Not awesome, my friend."

But England was still thinking about the Jutland peninsula. "I bet we could still do it, if we could get wetsuits somewhere. Ah, forget it. It's just smarter to come back during the warmer weather."

Romano smirked at Prussia, who sighed.

But Denmark couldn't leave the conversation there. "We could have a night picnic on the beach."

Both his friends gave him dirty looks – Romano thought he was trying to help Prussia win the bet, and Prussia thought he was trying to turn Arthur away from the idea of swimming.

"We could get drunk on the beach," England considered. "Or – you know what? We could get wetsuits and go swimming at night! That would be cool."

Romano scowled, and Prussia and Denmark both burst into laughter.

"No," England then decided. "That would be insane. Let's just go up in the daytime and have a picnic."

Grinning widely, Romano drew Prussia down and planted a little kiss on his forehead as well. "Have fun decorating, albino potato."


	140. Christmas Eve

**Christmas Eve.**

"Hang that one higher," Romano directed. He lay on the sofa watching Prussia decorate the Christmas tree, while Den and England sat on the floor building things with Legos atop the big coffee table.

"Denmark's supposed to be supervising, not you," Prussia countered, but he did hang the ornament higher.

"Hey, I don't mind. I'm just happy to be celebrating with all my friends." Den reached up and ruffled Romano's hair.

"Dammit," the brunet grumbled, but with a lot less venom than usual, fixing his hair.

"Thanks for taking us to the military museum," England offered vaguely, pulling Legos from a bin.

Romano had been surprisingly intrigued by the place. He wondered how much of that was due to his relationship with England, who was so martial. Or maybe he was just becoming more military! Heh. "What the fuck are you two building, anyway?" he now asked.

"For Gilbert! I'm making Sans Souci!" England gestured towards his big yellow Lego building.

"Kesesese! But that doesn't really look like it."

"Ingrate. Next time I'll make Big Ben." England sniffed and drank some more coffee.

Romano leaned over and poked Denmark. "What about you? What is that?" Denmark was busy with some kind of design built on a Lego mat.

"Just wait until I'm done. You'll see." But then he started laughing, without looking up, and Romano began to get suspicious.

"Whatever. Hey, albino potato, the tree is lopsided!"

Everyone looked at the tree. "Looks perfectly straight to me," England said.

"Yeah, Teutonic Knights and I spent a lot of time making sure it wasn't leaning."

"Oh," Romano realized. "No. I didn't mean the tree was leaning, I meant there are too many decorations on the side near the windows, and not enough on the side near the stairs."

The two blonds considered the tree.

"Yep," they agreed. "Move some of them, Prussia," Denmark then directed.

"I'm really not happy about all this bossing around."

"You lost the bet, stupid." Romano laughed.

But England looked up from his Lego model. "Er – did I miss something? What bet?"

"Nothing," the Skirmish Brothers said hastily. Prussia busied himself with reorienting the ornaments. The island nation went back to his building, and Romano breathed a tiny sigh of relief.

Eventually, after Den had made two more pots of coffee and England had finished adding another wing to Sans Souci, Romano deemed himself pleased with the albino's decorating skills. "You can quit now."

"Kesesese!"

"Come and build something," Denmark told him.

Prussia wedged in next to him at the coffee table. "What _are_ you building? You've been working on it for a long time."

Denmark sat back and gestured. "Ta-da! It's a mini-Miniland!"

Everyone craned to look. "That's pretty impressive, bastard. Looks just like it. Hey, you even put little minifigs in there!"

Den began laughing. "Yep. These are from my collection. I put one for each of us! See? This one is a pirate, and here's a Viking, and an artist, and a – ahem – "

"What? What'd you pick for the awesome me?"

"Mad scientist," Denmark admitted, laughing with his friends. "Well, sorry! It was the only one with hair like yours. It was either that or the clown."

"Hey, I don't mind. Mad scientists are cool. Cooler than clowns, anyway."

England picked up the pirate minifigure and began walking it around Miniland. "Ahoy, mates. Give me all your Christmas presents! Ha ha ha!"

"No, no!" "Not our awesome presents, Captain Arthur!" "Dammit, you idiot – "

But Prussia picked up the scientist figure. "I'll blast you to smithereens with my magic potion!"

"Stop!" Denmark bellowed, pushing the Viking toy in between the scientist and the pirate. "See this cultural artifact? You see it? I'll chop your plastic legs off! Now get out of Miniland, scurvy bastard!"

"The hell I will!" The two nations began battling each other, tiny plastic axe versus tiny plastic cutlass, and soon Denmark dealt England's minifig a mighty blow to the head. "Ow…oh, those bloody Vikings will be the death of me…" The toy pirate keeled over, and the plastic cutlass clattered to the Lego street.

"Ha ha! Vanquished another plastic foe!" Denmark beamed and received pats on the head from Prussia and Romano.

"Don't expect me to do any fighting, idiots." But Romano's voice was amused.

"You need to apply mouth-to-mouth to the injured pirate, kesesese…"

"Ah, shut up, mad albino scientist. Are we opening presents tonight?"

"Of course! That's the way we do it in my country." Denmark ruffled his hair again.

"Dammit, stop with the hair. Okay. Well, at least the tree looks good now, potato brain. Thanks for doing it."

"Anytime, sweetie-pie."

"Shut up. I have to go upstairs and get my gifts." Then the brunet turned to Denmark, agitated. "Uh – uh – we – how – ?"

"Don't panic. Teutonic Knights, you need to go upstairs."

"What? Why? What are you talking about?"

"Shut it, git, and do what your killer Viking boyfriend is telling you to do."

"All right. I don't like it, but I'll do it. No opening presents without me!"

"You know we wouldn't do that. Go hide in the master bedroom and don't come out until Romano says it's all right." Den pecked a little kiss on Prussia's head.

"Why do I have to do it, bastard?" Seriously, why did Romano always get picked for this shit? Dammit.

But England was laughing at him. "Just to goad you. If you didn't get so pissy about it, he wouldn't pick you to do it. Go get your presents."

"What about you? Didn't you bring any?"

"Yes, yes, all right, I stowed them in a secret hiding place. I'll get them."

Everyone split up to fetch presents. "Remember, albino potato! Don't leave the room until I come get you!"

"Got it, Romano! I totally get it! Stop yelling."

…

"Wow. That's a lot of presents." Prussia stood smirking at the wrapped heap of gifts under the tree.

"Yep. And I bet they're all _awesome~,_ " Romano teased.

The coffee table was now draped in a festive tablecloth; a coffee set on a tray sat atop it. Denmark had brought out a plate with more baked goodies, and England poured a generous dollop of rum into each coffee cup before they sat. A fire was roaring; the Christmas tree beautifully lit. Denmark sighed happily. "This is beautiful already, even without presents. I'm so happy you're all here. Come and sit on the couch, T.K."

"Teacake?" The albino scratched his head. "Like 'Cupcake'?"

" _T. K.!_ For Teutonic Knights. It's just a lot shorter, easier to say. I thought of it while we were setting up the – uh – well, whatever," Denmark laughed, blushing and turning away; Romano poked him with a grin.

"Sit down, wankers. Who's going to be the elf this year?" England sat next to Prussia; Romano next to Den.

"I think you should, bastard, since you called us wankers."

"Agreed," Prussia and Denmark said. England made a little scowl but then shrugged.

Everyone drank coffee while the island nation searched among the presents to bring something to everyone. "Here you go, one for Romano and one for Denmark." He handed them the gifts and sat with something in his lap. "And one for me."

"Hey! Hey, what about me?" Prussia put him in a headlock.

"Ow! Get off!"

"Get off him, bastard. You have to wait until last."

"What? Why?" He let go of England and sat back on the couch. "That's kind of mean."

"We have a reason. Just sit back and be happy. It's Christmas Eve!" England hugged him. "Though now I think it makes more sense for _you_ to hand out presents. Since you won't have any to open."

"Forget it! I had to do the entire awesome tree single-handedly!"

"All right, all right. Shut up, both of you morons. Open your presents."

Denmark had been busy unwrapping his present already, and inside found a knitted item, which he drew out carefully. "A Skirmish Brothers scarf? Thanks, England." But he looked at it a bit doubtfully. Romano bit his lip.

The island nation stared. "I didn't make that. Gilbert? Have you taken up knitting?"

"It – it's from me, bastard," Romano said, hiding his fiercely-blushing face. "I – I got Estonia to help me learn how to knit, and I made it for you. I-it's kind of basic, but –"

"Whoa! But that's awesome. Thank you. Look at this thing, you two, it's like ten feet long!" Denmark wrapped the very long scarf around – and around and around – his neck, and hugged the brunet. "I'm going to be the toastiest, happiest nation in the world. Thank you." He hugged him again and kissed his blushing cheek. Romano didn't look up, but he did at least start smiling. He was glad his friend was happy with it. It had been a real bitch to knit, and he would never give England shit about that girly activity ever again.

England, who had halfheartedly continued unwrapping his own present, kept his wondering eyes on his boyfriend until the paper was all undone. "What's this?" He lifted a knitted hat from the paper.

"Chigi! It's a hat, you moron." Of course, there were plenty of other things Romano could still give him shit about. Hah.

"I can see it's a hat, git. I mean, did you knit this for me?" He examined it all over with a growing smile.

"Yes, you stupid idiot. S-since you knitted us all those other ones."

"But it's adorable!" It matched the ones he'd knit for them, although it didn't have any beads. England put it on his head right away. Romano hoped he wouldn't notice the few dropped stitches and the crooked decreases. Hats were even harder than scarves. "How do I look?" the blond asked.

"Aw…Arthur, you are the cutest little thing." Prussia gave him a great big smacky kiss on the cheek. "I wonder if he knitted something for me?" he then mused airily.

Instead of responding, England thanked Romano nicely for the gift, keeping the hat on his head, and then gestured to the flat package on the brunet's lap.

Romano opened it. "What is it?" he asked, flipping through paperwork.

"Tickets to an Alaska cruise next summer," England said smugly. "Just the two of us." Romano blushed and ducked his head again.

Denmark said, "Aw," almost automatically, but he was watching Prussia, who had a funny smile on his face.

Romano cleared his throat. "Th-thanks, England." The newly-hatted island nation blew him a kiss in response, so he punched the sofa.

"Enough of all this romantic shit," Prussia decided. "You guys need to hurry up so that I can get my awesome presents! Go get more presents, Arthur."

"Yes, Gilbert."

…

"Legos? Wow." Romano nudged Denmark with an elbow. "I – I – I wouldn't ordinarily have asked for, or considered, Legos, but now after this vacation they'll always remind me of you. Th-thanks." He blushed.

"You're welcome. I know you'll have fun with them."

"Uh. Yeah. We can p-play with them wh-when you guys come over next time?" Dammit, he felt like a fucking idiot. _Legos!_ But – but Den was his friend, and –

"Kesesese! We can try to make a Leaning Tower of Legos!"

"Cheh." Maybe Romano _felt_ like an idiot, but Prussia _was_ one.

England opened a box to find the complete set of "I Love Lucy" DVDs. "Gilbert, you're too much. Thanks. We'll have to watch them when you come over. We can have a marathon!"

"Fine by me!"

But then England spent a little time looking at the box. "Where did you get these?" he asked suspiciously.

"America sent them over, since I couldn't find them around here."

"You _wanker_. These are Region 1! They won't work in my DVD player!" He set the box down and punched his albino friend, who punched him back; soon the two nations were growling and wrestling all over the floor, accompanied by the laughter of their friends. "Git!"

"Shut up, you overbearing island freak!" Prussia managed to pin him face-down on the floor, sitting on his back. "Don't be so uptight," he said, folding his arms.

"Get off me." Surprisingly, his new hat hadn't fallen off yet.

"Apologize."

"For what? Because you bought me American DVDs? Pfft."

Prussia got off him, leaning down to hug him. "Aw. Merry Christmas, Ethel."

England patted his cheek. "Merry Christmas, Lucy." They got up and sat on the couch again.

"Well, that was a fun show," Denmark laughed.

"Open your awesome present."

So Denmark opened his awesome present. "Now what?"

"Kesesese! Tickets to an Alaska cruise!"

Denmark began beaming but Romano gave England a nasty look, before noticing the island nation was just as shocked as he was. "What dates, bastard?" Dammit.

"Did you two plan this? You _are_ awesome," Denmark laughed, getting up to hug both Prussia and England.

England backed off in a hurry. "I had nothing to do with it! What dates?"

Yes. Their tickets were for the same week, on the same ship. "What are the chances?" Prussia grinned. "We're going to have so much fun! Just – no breaking up, you two. We don't want another depressing cruise."

"Shut up about that!" Romano yelled. "I already told you a million times that I was sorry about it!" England, too, looked a little embarrassed.

"Yeah, shut up about it, T.K. They won't break up." Den, back at his couch, put an arm around the agitated Romano's shoulders.

"Hah. Maybe we should break up with you two," England suggested.

"You wouldn't."

"Might _._ "

"Wouldn't."

"All right, shut up, shut up, shut up!" Romano's voice bounced off the walls. "Will you two quit fighting? It's Christmas Eve! Peace and harmony shit!"

"We're not actually fighting," England pointed out, hugging Prussia again.

" _Peace and harmony shit,"_ Prussia quoted, under his breath. "Nice."

Denmark got off the couch. "Still, I think you two need to be separated," he laughed. "Prussia, you go sit with Romano."

"Awesome!" He bounced over and plopped down into the space just vacated by Den. "Hello, my friend."

When he hugged Romano the brunet scowled, but didn't push him away. "Get some more presents, stupid," he told his adoring boyfriend.

England came back with a present for Denmark, one for Romano, and one for himself. "This is it, and then Gilbert can – can have his."

"Hurry, hurry," Prussia said. "It's insane that you're making me wait. Insane!"

"What the _hell_ is _this?_ " Romano yelled, fanning out some bizarre papers printed with pictures of beer and pretzels.

"Kesesese! These are activity tickets."

"Okay, what the fuck are activity tickets?"

"They're like little coupons that you can cash in with me to get cool stuff. Do stuff."

Romano narrowed his eyes. This sounded bad. "Like what?"

"Like tours of Berlin, or free beers, stuff like that. Bouncy houses, or high-quality liquor, or play Modern Warfare with me! Awesome stuff!"

Romano tried not to groan, and instead forced himself to hug the albino potato, very briefly. "Thanks…I think."

"Aw," everyone said, and the half-nation jumped up and stomped out of the room.

"Romano, come back!" Denmark yelled. "Come back!"

He reluctantly came back. "Stop all that shit."

"We'll stop," everyone agreed.

He pushed Denmark off the couch and sat next to England. "Okay. Now everybody can hug who they want to hug, all right?" Romano scowled. Of course everyone started hugging, and he just rolled his eyes. "Are you bastards going to open these presents or what?"

Denmark held a tiny wrapped package. When he opened it, some coins spilled out. "Old coins? Coins of Canute! England, how? Did you raid the British Museum?"

The island nation smiled fondly at his old nemesis. "Private collectors are amenable to selling, with the right incentive." He buffed his nails on his shirt; Prussia got up to throw more wood on the fire.

"Well? Anybody going to explain who the hell Canute was?" Romano felt surly, as usual, because he didn't know what they were talking about.

"King of Denmark and England," Prussia told him, returning to his seat.

"At the same time? Wait, how do _you_ know that?"

"You think I'm some kind of moron? Kesesese! I know a lot about Europe. Especially because Den and Arthur are my good friends. You need to do more research, Romano. You're completely out of it."

"Hey, England doesn't love him for his mind, you know." Den and Prussia sniggered like adolescents.

"Shut up," the other two said wearily. "Anyway," England went on, "Canute was king from 1016-1035 in England."

"And 1018-1035 in Denmark." Den turned the coins over in his hands. "These are really good specimens, too. Thanks."

"No problem. Merry Christmas."

"Well? Open the damn gift, bastard." Romano pointed to the long, flat package on England's lap.

Unwrapping it, the blond found a 3/5-scale replica of Denmark's axe. "Denmark! This is awesome. Thanks!" He took it out and swished it around in the air, laughing.

Romano was doubtful and leaned out of the way hurriedly. "You're giving him a weapon, idiot?"

"Why not? Anyway, it's special." Denmark smiled at England as he aimed the axe at Prussia.

This got Romano intrigued. "Go on, bastard, throw it at him!"

"Kesesese! But it's just a toy, Romano. It's a Nerf axe."

"You're joking." Romano rolled his eyes. "Great. Now you and Swissy can have Nerf competitions." He took it from England and swished it around a little. He couldn't reach Prussia to whack him, though.

"How? What am I supposed to do, hit him in the head while he's trying to aim his gun? Wanker."

"Okay, enough, enough of all this," Prussia said. "I want my presents!"

"What makes you think you're getting more than one, albino potato?"

"You mean I'm not?" Prussia put on the most astonishing pout any of them had ever seen, and they all burst out laughing.

"Well, just stand up, all right?" Den patted his white hair.

"What? What for? You're not going to make me perform for it, are you?"

"Just shut it." England pushed him to the side of the coffee table and took the tray of coffee things into the kitchen; Den followed with the pastry tray.

When they came back Prussia was glaring at Romano, who was glaring right back. Denmark stepped forward and put his hands on the albino's shoulders to break this stare. "Hey. Take this tablecloth off the table."

"What? Why don't you do it? You're standing right there."

"Just do it, albino potato," Romano sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if all this is worth it."

Prussia pulled the tablecloth off. "Hey. When did you get this coffee table, Den? Your old one didn't have a glass top. What happened to – "

As he caught a glimpse of the items nestled on the blue velvet lining, under the glass top, Prussia's grin changed to a wild look. "This is for _me?_ A scarf for me, too!" He scanned his friends' laughing faces to make sure. "This is _awesome,_ " he breathed, reverentially. Under the beautiful dark wooden table's glass top lay his entire collection of souvenir spoons, arranged in neat rows, and a Skirmish Brothers scarf. "The – the table is actually for me?" His eyes were sparkling.

"Yes, dearest," Den said, kissing his forehead. "We checked with Germany to make sure there's a place to put it in your house."

"I love all you guys, I don't care what anybody says," Prussia nodded. "All of you. Even Romano." Keeping his eyes on the table, he tried to reach out and hug the brunet.

"Bastard." Romano moved out of reach and then decided to put more logs on the fire.

"How – how do I open it? I want to wear my awesome scarf, and I need to know how to put more spoons in there."

Denmark showed him how to raise the hinged glass lid. "See? Wasn't it worth waiting for?"

"Kesesese! Yes! Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, everybody." They all hugged each other and Prussia put the scarf on before sitting in front of his table.

"Now…who's up for some awesome strip poker?"

 _"Chigiiii!"_


	141. A Holiday Treat

**A Holiday Treat.**

Estonia woke up on Boxing Day rather disgruntled. He'd spent a desultory day with Latvia for Christmas, baking and halfheartedly swapping stories, but in the end the little nation bowed out early to go make merry with his micronation friends. In a rather Scrooge-like mood, Estonia had watched a Christmas movie and gone to bed early. Sometimes, he felt, it simply wasn't worth getting out of bed in the morning.

But get out of bed he did, conscientiously showering and dressing in clean casual wear before heading downstairs for some coffee and marzipan. He took the iffy breakfast to his computer to see if anything noteworthy was happening elsewhere in the world.

By the time he'd finished reading the tech news, his coffee was gone. Estonia rose to go to the kitchen for more, and the doorbell rang. He wondered who it could be. No nations had made plans with him for today.

He opened the door. "Kesesese! Merry Christmas!"

Huh. Prussia, Denmark, Romano and England stood before his door, each bearing a gift and wearing matching knitted accessories. All four of them were smiling brightly. Even Romano.

"Well? Are you going to invite us in?" Denmark asked, poking him.

"I do hope we haven't come at a bad time? Certainly if you're busy we can go," England, the consummate British gentleman, offered.

"No, no! Please come in. I was simply surprised." He opened the door wider and the four friends streamed in.

"Hey, looks nice!" Denmark told him.

It did look nice, Estonia had to admit. He'd gone a bit overboard with decorating this year – perhaps to conceal the irritation in his soul, the stupid run of bad dates he'd had. But it had been well worth the effort. It had never seemed quite so festive before, even to his own jaded eyes.

"What brings you by?" he wondered.

"We thought you might not be having such a great Christmas," Prussia said, before Romano kicked him. "Ow. Well, you know it's true. I heard you were dating Canada, but that it didn't work out."

England punched him. "Gilbert, you're a first-class wanker. Why don't you have more tact?"

"Tact, my ass," Romano muttered, sinking into a couch. "Potato bastards don't have the finer nuances of social control."

This made Denmark laugh hysterically. "Like you do? 'Bastard'? Or you, 'git'?" He kept howling and flopped down next to Romano, who crossed his arms and huffed.

Oh, Estonia was feeling better already. Laughter was good for you! "May I get you anything to eat or drink?"

"We wondered whether we could do a little more sightseeing," Denmark confessed. "Since we only had that little time on the cruise. But if you're busy, or don't want to – "

"No, I don't mind at all!" Estonia was now eager to spend time with the four friends. Even with the manic Prussia. "Did you have breakfast? We can visit some bakeries while we're out."

He did not understand why all four of them immediately vetoed bakeries.

"Ah, never mind, bastard. We did have breakfast, but we can stop wherever, if anyone's hungry."

"Right! Come on, grab your coat, Estonia, and let's go!"

So he grabbed his coat, and they went.

…

Because the weather was much colder than it had been on their last visit, today's sightseeing was mostly done at indoor attractions. But the friends seemed to be exerting themselves to cheer Estonia, and he felt quite good about spending time with them.

"So what's all this Canada business?" Prussia asked over lunch, evoking scowls from both Romano and England again.

"It's nothing," he sighed. "Just a date that didn't work out."

"I can see that. Canada's a bit mousy."

"You used to date him, right, git?"

Estonia blanched. Talk about tactless! England shouldn't be mentioning that in front of Denmark!

But – "Because Den was with Norway, yeah. I mean, Canada makes good pancakes with maple syrup, but…I don't know. He's a nice guy, just not my type."

Wow. Estonia felt the blood flow back to his face as he listened to the friends talk. This unvarnished talk was almost – _almost_ – making him wish he could hang out with these four more often.

And then Romano said, "Don't be a dick," and Prussia said "Ow," possibly because the brunet had kicked him.

So maybe Estonia really wouldn't want to hang out with them very often. He was rather tense when this sort of thing happened.

"You should find somebody better to date," Denmark put in. "Someone more suited to you."

"Well, I'm trying!" Estonia blurted, before remembering his manners. But he wasn't going to tell them about the spreadsheet. Suddenly it seemed too personal _._ "I'm trying," he said in a more subdued, almost despondent, voice.

Immediately all four of them began offering dating advice, suggestions for partners, places to explore with a date. "Just stay away from Hungary," Prussia told him. "That frying pan is brutal."

"Don't I know it," England agreed. "Went to visit Austria one day – just to _visit_ the git – and she brained me." He rubbed his head in remembrance.

"Poor bastard." But Romano was snickering. "Don't go after the macho potato," he then told Estonia. "My brother's very, very possessive of him." He rolled his eyes. "I can't actually see _why,_ but he is."

"Because West is awesome, Romano, and you know it, but you're afraid to admit it! Kesesese! He's almost as awesome as me."

"No way," his friends chorused, making Estonia laugh.

"Well, whoever you end up dating, I'm sure you'll make a good go of it." England patted Estonia's hand paternally. "You've got a good head on your shoulders."

That was the whole problem, Estonia supposed. He was too level-headed, trying to deal with temperamental dates. With a suppressed sigh he thought of Bulgaria…and then Cuba…Cameroon…"Oh, forget it. Let's get out of here," he said, throwing some bills on the table to pay the lunch bill.

The others rose as well and followed him out the door.

…

At the end of the day they returned to Estonia's home and presented him with the gifts they'd brought. "You really didn't need to do this," he told them all, smiling as he unwrapped Denmark's present.

"But it was fun," Romano admitted. "It's always fun to think of gifts for people."

"And this was a group effort." Denmark elbowed Estonia as he opened a box of Lego bricks.

"Legos! I love Legos," he sighed, "but I never play with them anymore."

"We play with them all the time, kesesese! Here!" Prussia handed him a flat package, which turned out to contain Lego mats.

"Ah, I see a theme emerging," he grinned. "Okay. Bricks and mats." He set the mats aside and opened a big gift bag. "Minifigures?"

"That's right, bastard. I scrounged all the minifigures I could find, so there are no duplicates."

"That's really cool, Romano! Thanks." He smiled, and Romano blushed. He really hadn't considered the Italian to be so thoughtful.

The final box, from England, contained an assortment of Lego doors and windows. "Can't build a town with bricks alone," the island nation smiled.

"Thank you all. This is – really nice of you. Very much in the Christmas spirit, and so on."

 _"Peace and harmony shit,"_ Prussia muttered with a laugh, startling him, but the others ignored it.

Denmark shook his hand and wished him well. "We do have to be going. But I think we all had a fun time hanging out with you today. Good luck with the dating."

"Cheh. We made a vow not to meddle in anybody's love life anymore, otherwise I'm sure you'd have gotten a lot more 'advice.'" The air quotes clicked into place as Romano concluded his sentence, and England poked him.

"Good luck," they all chorused. Each of the visitors shook hands with their host and bundled into winter gear. "And happy New Year!" Prussia called out, as they went out the door.

"Thanks again! See you all soon!"

They waved at Estonia and hustled off in the cold December air. He closed the door and leaned against it, smiling. Maybe he'd build something with his new Legos. It would be stressless and fun, and remind him of the mostly-fun day he'd just had. Yeah.


	142. Happy New Year (Romania)

**Happy New Year (Romania).**

Darkness had fallen already, this New Year's Eve, and three of the four friends seemed uneasy as they headed up the thickly-shaded drive towards Romania's remote mansion. Its peaks and gables stood silhouetted against the full moon; the detritus of last autumn's leaves crunched under military boots as they warily approached. The wind whistled through the trees, and every now and then they heard a flapping sound, as of birds…or bats. All the windows save one were dark. It didn't help that one of Denmark's boots kept squeaking, either. Even he was unnerved by all this!

"Wh-why-why is it so d-damn dark here?" Romano stammered. "There's a f-fucking full moon! Why isn't it brighter, dammit?" His hand encircled England's upper arm, gripping very tightly, and he practically tiptoed through the leaves.

Denmark raised his eyes to the moon. "I d-don't know. Everything seems much more – more –"

" _Gloomy?_ " England moaned. "Maybe we should have gone to Greece's party instead." He looked around. "I don't see anyone else headed up here, either. What if we're the only ones who show up?" He pried Romano's grip loose and took his hand instead. "Are we even sure he's home? All the bloody windows are dark!"

But Prussia, skipping along, yelled "Kesesese! If nobody else shows up it'd still be fun. We can get drunk and snoop around his place." He jumped into the air in his exuberance. "You're telling me all three of you are scared? Hah. It's a _party._ Nothing scary!"

"I'm a _little_ scared." Denmark confessed this while still shuffling hesitantly forward through the crackly dead leaves.

England agreed with a nervous laugh. "I'm a lot scared."

"I – I – I'm not s-s-scared at all, b-b-bastards."

Everyone laughed; Romano let go of England to punch his arm. "Ow. Git."

"Come on!" Prussia ran up the wide stone stairs of the ancient mansion, where a lone candle burned weakly in a window. "I do have to admit this looks pretty gloomy. It's great! Woo _ooo_ ooo," he moaned like a ghost, waving his arms above his head. "Wonder how he managed to get such perfect weather, though? A full moon!"

"Hey. Anybody want to place a bet?" England suddenly asked, with a sparkle in his eye.

Romano looked suspicious. "What? _You_ want to make a bet?" They headed up the stairs together, Denmark following.

"Sure. Let's bet on who else is coming. Bet bloody America won't be here. Couldn't nerve himself up for it."

"Not taking that bet, because you're absolutely right." Denmark ruffled England's hair. "I bet Bulgaria's here. They're really good friends."

"Oh, forget all the damn bets. Ring the doorbell, albino potato. I'm nervous standing out here in the dark. Something might sn-sneak up on us."

Prussia hunted for the doorbell and rang it with another little cackle.

When their host flung the door open with a dramatic whoop, Denmark, England and Romano all jumped a little, but Prussia just hollered, "Happy new year, Romania!" and pushed past him into the noisy, candlelit house.

"Don't mind him. He's just excited," Den said, shaking the grinning Romania's hand.

The host wore a nice black suit with a lime green top hat. Huh, that pointy tooth was creepy, too. He had a tall, dark drink in his other hand, and his face was flushed. "Welcome to all of you. Please come in! The entire house is open tonight, you may go where you wish, and have fun looking 'round. All I ask is that you stay out of the locked room at the end of the second floor. Here, you can leave your coats here." A servant was hovering anxiously nearby; he took their coats and strode off, presumably towards a coat room.

Everyone shook hands with Romania and came further inside. "Why are all the windows dark?" Romano demanded, before they got too far.

"I used blackout curtains! Aren't they cool?" The host gestured to the windows. "Makes it look creepier outside."

Huh. "Whatever, bastard." He grabbed England's hand again.

"There are buffet tables scattered throughout the house; drinks are at the bar." Romania gestured to a large portable bar that had been set up in the spacious, yet bone-chilling, ballroom, where some nervous-looking caterers stood huddled together, pouring drinks for the visiting nations and trying to act brave.

"Thanks," England said absently. They scanned the room for Prussia and found him already with a beer in hand, talking to Latvia and Sealand, who hugged each other tightly and seemed even more terrified than Romano. No wonder. Cobwebs drifted down from the ceiling, and weird organ music was playing very quietly in the background.

Romania drifted away from them. "Can't believe he invited that little git," the blond snarled.

"Ah, forget Sealand. Come have a drink." Denmark grabbed both his friends by the arms and dragged them to the bar.

Romano placed drink orders for himself and England. Den watched him act manly and calm while talking to the nervous young bartender. She mixed the drinks with a shaking hand, accidentally dropping England's olive into Romano's Bloody Mary. "I like olives; it's not a problem," he told her, and she smiled weakly before getting another olive for the island nation's martini.

Denmark ordered a beer, to start. He wanted to get a feel for this party, which was already kind of unnerving, before starting to drink a lot.

When they each had a drink they leaned against the cold stone wall to survey the crowds and the room. "Ha ha," Den pointed out, "should have made that bet!" America was across the room trying to talk to Belarus, but she was not looking happy.

"Oh well." England was shaken, but not stirred. "Who else is here?"

But Romano seemed more concerned with the architecture and décor. "Why the hell does this bastard still have bare stone walls? He couldn't even put up some fucking tapestries to hold in the heat?" He scowled, slapping the wall, and then pressed closer to England.

Denmark took a moment to observe the room, too. It _was_ damn cold in here, despite all the people and candles. High-ceilinged, built of big and regular black stones, with a matching stone floor having assorted small rugs here and there in bright red and black; Den couldn't even see the ceiling, when he looked up. Wine-red velvet curtains flanked the blacked-out windows, and all the aged carved furniture had a very twisted and grotesque appearance. "Do you think it always looks like this, or maybe he did it like this to give it a spooky new year's theme?"

"How stupid." Romano was still looking pretty pissed off. "He's got the wrong holiday."

"Who the hell knows what he's thinking? I barely know the wanker, even though we do magic together."

Den looked over towards the doorway that led to the rest of the house. "Hey, there are Ice and Liechtenstein. She's got to be freezing; that dress is really pretty, but it's not suited to this temperature." In a short, fitted dark dress, Liechtenstein did look festive and happy, but visibly shivering. Iceland had his arm around her. When he saw the three friends watching (Prussia was still talking to the micronations), he waved and brought her over.

"Hello, everyone," he said. Liechtenstein smiled but didn't speak.

"You should get your coat," Denmark said to her, by way of greeting.

"I know. We were just on our way to the coat room," Iceland grinned. "This is a very interesting house, but much too cold, even for me!"

Denmark shook his hand. "We were just trying to decide whether it's always like this, or just done up for the party."

"You think the bastard put the fucking air conditioning on for New Year's?" Romano snapped. "That's brutal."

"Hey, I don't know!"

"Want me to go get your coat?" England asked Liechtenstein.

"I'll go," Iceland said. "You stay here." He smiled at her and ran off to find their coats; Liechtenstein moved closer to England to stay warm, and he put his arm around her protectively.

"Should get the albino potato over here; all that hot air would warm things up right away."

"Kesesese! Did somebody say they wanted me over here? Oh, Romano, I adore you, I really do." He put the brunet in a headlock and then kissed him. "Seriously, what are you grumbling about? This place is great! We need to go look around. I want to see what else he's done to the place."

"You've been here before?" Liechtenstein asked politely.

"Yeah, oh, it was a long while ago, back when he was part of Austria. Place hasn't changed much," he said absently. "No vital regions to speak of."

Iceland returned with the coats. "Here," he said, holding Liechtenstein's out, and she snuggled into it gratefully. It was a nice sheepskin coat with a thick lining.

"Probably if we keep moving around we'll stay warmer," Den pointed out. "Or maybe find a fireplace?"

"Oh, good idea!" Iceland nodded. "There's got to be a fireplace around somewhere. Come on," he said, offering his date his arm.

All of them moved out of the room. America, still talking to Belarus, waved at them as they passed, but the girl ignored them.

"I guess that means Russia's around, huh?" Prussia asked.

"Probably hiding from her!" Denmark had a higher vantage point than the others, so he continually scanned rooms they passed, trying to find a fireplace.

"Swissy coming tonight?" Prussia asked Liechtenstein.

"Ah, no. Hungary wanted to go to Greece's party, because of all the cats, so she dragged _Bruder_ and Austria with her." She smiled. "I bet it's nice and warm there."

"My stupid brother and the potato bastard went there, too."

"So did our brothers!" Iceland chimed in.

" _Our_ brothers?" Romano asked him. "Whose brothers?"

"Norway and Sweden and Finland! They're my brothers and Denmark's too."

"Aw, yeah. I'm the big brother of all of Scandinavia. Bow down to Denmark the King!"

Nobody responded to this, except England, who started laughing hysterically, and Prussia, who punched him in the arm. Denmark stuck his nose in the air and ignored all that.

"Well, there's a fireplace," Romano pointed out, "but fuck! It's not even lit."

They all peered into the smallish parlor next to them. "Keep moving," Den sighed, patting him on the shoulder. "But good spotting."

Eventually the group located a fireplace with a roaring fire, in another very large (and much more modern) room where Bulgaria sat alone on a black leather couch nursing a mug of something and ignoring everyone. The newcomers greeted him; he waved a gloved hand weakly in response, but didn't talk. However, everyone was much too excited about the fire. They gathered around it, chivalrously allowing Liechtenstein to take the prime spot, although Romano tried to nudge a little closer, too.

"Good God," England whined. "This is overdoing it."

"This is _under_ doing it!" Prussia tried to laugh, but by now his teeth were chattering. "I like the spooky theme, but not the cold. Maybe he never had central heating installed? I ought to get West to talk to him. My _Bruder_ is an expert on heating systems."

"Your ' _Bruder'_ is an expert idiot."

"Right, Romano," Den snorted. "You're telling me that if Germany suddenly showed up and offered to install central heating, you'd turn him down?" He laughed and gave the half-nation a hug.

"Shut up. But keep hugging me, bastard, I'll get warm faster."

Iceland got a little smirk on his face and put his arms around Liechtenstein, who blushed, but didn't push him away.

Eventually everyone felt somewhat warmer; turning to scan this room they discovered Bulgaria had disappeared but America was here. "Hey, dudes! Uh," he then said, backing away from England and Romano.

"Kesesese, you're too funny, America. Just because Arthur beat you up!"

Both Romano and Denmark started laughing, and America punched Prussia in the arm, still avoiding England. "Shut up, man. Isn't this party awesome? I love the decorations. Very well done, even though they are more like Halloween decorations."

Everyone stared at him. "What? What are you all staring at?" he continued.

"Y-you're not scared, bastard? This ghostly place?"

"This isn't ghostly! It's just old-fashioned and cool. There aren't many homes done in this style, at my place."

"Okay," Denmark said flatly, "okay. Where's the real America, please?"

"Ha ha ha!" The hero elbowed him. "You're the funny one, Denmark."

By now the coat-wearing Iceland and Liechtenstein appeared warmer; the Nordic nation led her to the couch, where they snuggled up together. "Too fucking cute," Romano whispered to England, who smiled back.

"Just like us."

"You stupid sap."

"Shut it, you miserable wanker. I want another drink."

"Yeah, I'm warm enough. Let's go. Hey," he said to the others, "you bastards want another drink?"

"Bring me a Danish Mary."

"Ooh," Prussia said. "Yeah. Bring me one too. I love those things."

England, meanwhile, had crossed to the couple on the couch to see if they wanted anything. "Right, come on," he motioned to Romano. The two of them hustled back to the bar, not wanting to be away from the fireplace too long.

"You know, I wanted to check this place out with you, when we first got here, but…this is nuts. I'm going to spend the whole fucking night in front of the damn fireplace!"

"We could go upstairs and get warm later," England suggested, not meeting his eyes.

Romano blushed. "Yeah – well – well – whatever, bastard!" In his confusion he kicked his boyfriend just as they approached the bar. "Shut up about that shit!"

They placed the drink orders and turned to observe the room again. Belarus was now hanging on Russia, who waved to them with his habitual smile; Latvia and Sealand were no longer in sight. Poland and Lithuania swayed in the corner to the sound of the spooky organ music. Not really dancing, just – _swaying_. "It always surprises me how willing Lithuania is to do stupid dancing."

"Romano, you tosser. I wish you'd dance with me once in a while." England took the tray of drinks and they walked back towards the fireplace room.

"You're telling me you'd do that dumbass dancing like those two were doing?" He wrinkled his nose.

"Ah. Well, probably not like that. But you know what I mean."

When they entered the room, nations swarmed around, grabbing drinks from the tray; Romano took the drinks for the lovebirds to the couch. By the time he came back, England was sipping another martini, and the tray was empty. "Where the hell's my drink?"

"Eh? I don't know." They scanned the room and discovered that America had taken Romano's drink.

" _Chig-_ " he began, but England shoved the martini into his hand.

"Drink this. Don't make a scene."

"You always spoil my fun, bastard." But he drank the drink while they observed everyone.

Romania danced back into the room, a big hairy spider on his arm, and even America jumped away from that. "Seriously, dude, you are taking this way too far."

"Hah! This is a toy, a prop." The host picked the giant spider off his sleeve and held it out; only Prussia dared to take it. He poked it a few times and laughed, placing it on his white hair.

"How do I look, Den?" He batted his eyelashes and simpered.

"Exactly like some goof with a toy spider on his head." Denmark took it off and handed it back to Romania, who laughed. "Come on, Romania. I don't like to be ungrateful, but we're all so cold that nobody's going to have a chance to enjoy the party! We'll be huddled around the fire all night."

"Cold? It's cold in here? I hadn't even noticed." He tripped over to the thermostat. "Huh. Only twelve degrees! There must be something wrong with the thermostat."

"There's nothing wrong with the thermostat!" everyone yelled. "It's damn cold," Denmark finished.

"Okay. Well, there, I just bumped it up to twenty-four. That should do it. Sorry. Go have some fun! We're bobbing for apples in the back yard."

America grabbed him by the collar, snarling. "Romania, do you have some kind of fucked-up calendar? Everything I've seen tonight screams Halloween, but it's New Year's!" He seemed very angry.

The host shrugged and bared his fang in a sneer; the hero let go quickly. "Of course not. But Halloween is my best thing, you know? Why not stick with a winner?" He saw Bulgaria beckoning him from the other doorway. "Hey, gotta go, but things ought to be warming up now. Have fun, everyone!" Romania hurried away.

…

Two hours later the party was in full swing; it was now so warm that those nations with jackets had stripped them off and were wandering, talking, or dancing in their shirtsleeves. The four friends had left Iceland and Liechtenstein canoodling in the fireplace room and toured the house a little. Other than the few rooms they'd seen early on, this place was quite modern and up-to-date, so they supposed he kept that big ballroom gloomy on purpose, either for occasions like this, or nostalgia. The creepy music was being played all throughout the house, though. Denmark had confessed that it made him itch between the shoulder blades, as if someone was about to knife him there.

America, apparently at a loose end, had stuck with the group all night. They'd eventually gone back to that big main ballroom with the bar. Poland and Russia had already gotten into a fist fight and been separated; the host was frantically consoling the pouty Pole while Belarus and Ukraine had dragged their angry, beloved brother off somewhere out of sight.

"I bet I could take you, in wrestling," Prussia now said to Denmark, setting his empty beer bottle on the mantel.

"Are you out of your mind, Teutonic Knights? I can take you with one hand tied behind my back!" Den yelled at him.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah!"

The two nations squared off right in the middle of the room; everyone else cleared a space, amused, and Prussia threw Den down and pinned him in the blink of an eye, sitting on his back and laughing like mad. "Try again, my formerly-awesome friend?"

"Hell, yes!" Denmark was fighting mad; he hopped up angrily and they began again, with the same outcome.

"Fuck, I don't want to stand around watching these dumb bastards wrestle. Let's get out of here."

England agreed. "Get me another martini. I'm going back to the fireplace room. Those couches looked nice."

"Mm, yes, they did. Okay. I'll be right along."

Denmark and Prussia prepared for another throw, but Romano was already moving to the bar. He'd had a lot to drink tonight, but he was still a little crabby, so he knew he wasn't drunk. As he took their drinks from the bartender he heard another cheer and a "kesesese" from the other side of the room and hurried off. He would not want to be around if the albino potato kept pinning Denmark. It might even be risky to head back to Den's place for the last night of their vacation. Maybe he and England should just head back to Rome. It was marginally closer, anyway.

When he reached the fireplace room, England had cozied up to Liechtenstein on the couch, and Iceland was not around. "Bastard?"

England and Liechtenstein glanced up, laughing over a shared joke, and Romano felt his blood begin to boil. Dammit, the bastard couldn't keep his hands off anyone? "Yes?" the island nation asked cheekily, holding his hand out for the drink.

Romano chugged the martini instead of handing it over, and then tried to chug his Bloody Mary. "Dammit, England, why the hell are you flirting with her? You've been all over her tonight!"

Liechtenstein's hand flew to her mouth but England just laughed a little. "Don't be a jealous git. Sit down." He patted the couch.

"Forget it!" He set the glasses down. "Listen, you –"

But England jumped up and started shouting at him. "Why are you always so touchy about this, wanker? Don't you believe I'm –?"

"Shut up about it, stupid," Romano hissed, shoving him away. Behind them, Liechtenstein curled her feet up on the couch and watched with fearful eyes.

"Bloody hell!" England roared. "If you – if you –"

"Shut up, you stupid bastard." Romano shoved him against the wall. But he saw the glimmer of metal under England's open shirt collar, which completely distracted him. He pressed closer to the blond, grabbing him and kissing him fiercely. "Mm, dammit," he murmured, feeling the warmth of England's response. "L-let's go upstairs?"

The island nation nodded feverishly, yanking him along by the hand. "Sorry, Liechtenstein!" they yelled, now laughing, as they ran out of the room together.

Upstairs they found an empty dark bedroom and ran inside, slamming the door and collapsing on the bed. Neither spoke as mouths and tongues met, hands groped for belt buckles and shirt buttons. Romano moaned a little in anticipation.

Then a deep loud "Mu ha ha ha!" erupted from the other side of the bed.

Romano screamed and jumped. The island nation, gasping, caught him before he fell off the bed; they held each other, panting and nervous, waiting to see what would happen next.

Then a whispered "kesesese" came from the other side of the room. "You fucking albino potato," Romano growled, flopping back on the bed. "Dammit." He put a hand over his heart to try to slow the pounding.

" _Romano_? Is that you?"

"Who the fuck do you think it is, you interfering bastard! Of course it's me!"

"Who are you here with?"

"Gilbert, you're a tosser. Complete. If I ever get my hands on you –"

"Well, this sucks," Prussia said in the darkness.

A fourth voice said, "I know."

"America?" the two nations on the bed yelled.

"Well, yeah, dudes! Prussia and I were going to play an awesome prank on whichever couple came up to this room first. But if I'd known it was going to be you two –"

"Where the hell is Denmark?" Romano's night vision had now adjusted and he could see both of the intruders.

"Uh – ah – I really don't know," Prussia tried to offer, and then the door burst open again with a loud "Ah ha ha ha!"

"Hi, Den," everyone said wearily. "The prank was a fail," Prussia added.

"What? What?" Denmark hit the light switch. "What the hell's going on?"

"I don't even care. I thought you bastards were wrestling or some shit?"

"We were! I was really mad at T.K. for beating me every time, though, so we stopped and got some more drinks. This seemed like a fun idea." Den came over and sat on the bed. "Guess not?"

"Not," England and Romano said forcefully; Romano realized his pants were hanging open and hurriedly took care of that, buckling his belt afterwards, hiding his burning face from everyone else.

"This party is too weird, man."

"Kesesese! This party is awesome."

"Well, shit, it's soon midnight, bastards, so we might as well go back down."

"Yes, all right." Together the group slouched back down the stairs. Romano flipped Prussia the bird, but since he was at the back of the line, only England saw, and chuckled a little.

In the main room Romania stood on a makeshift dais, waving his dark drink and laughing. No one paid attention to him. "Wonder what he's been drinking all night?" Prussia mused. "Blood?"

"Wish it was your blood."

Both Denmark and England began laughing at Romano's muttered remark. "What?" the albino asked, shaking Romano by the arm. "What did you say? What?"

"Stop it, bastard!" He jerked his arm away. "Hands off."

"Kesesese! Only the awesome Arthur gets to put his hands on you!"

Nobody replied to that, either. "Let's get some drinks. A lot of drinks." England pushed his way to the bar. The bartenders were a little more cheerful, probably because it wasn't so cold anymore, so he took advantage of them to order two drinks for everyone. "I need two, after that bloody awful interruption upstairs."

"You have to admit it would have been a good one-two punch, if it hadn't been you and Romano in the bed, dude."

"Shut it, wanker. Drink."

Within minutes the bartenders were mixing up yet another round. "I love drinking," Romano said with a smile. "I love all you bastards."

Prussia and Denmark hugged him. "Stand back, everyone! Romano's drunk!"

"I – I am not!" he said, with that silly grin, and Prussia kissed his forehead. And then Denmark did, and then America tried to, and England punched him.

"Ow. I hate you, Iggy."

"I know. Piss off."

America took the hint and left, heading for Russia.

"You know, there really aren't that many people here," Denmark realized. "Only what, about ten nations?"

Prussia counted them. "Eleven, plus us, if you don't count Romania. Since he'd be here anyway."

"Guess all the other gits wanted to go to Greece for the warm weather."

"Losers." Romano hiccupped. "Come on. Let's explore this place."

Everyone stared at him. "What?" he yelled. "What now?"

"It's almost midnight. I thought you wanted to come down here to celebrate midnight?"

"Cheh, of course I did. I – I was just kidding about – uh – whatever I was talking about."

England cuddled him in his arms and Romano snuggled close with a little goofy smile, and Denmark and Prussia burst into laughter. The island nation looked like he was fighting it, too.

Romania finally threw his glass against the wall, smashing it, which caught everyone's attention. "Soon midnight!" he yelled. "Grab your partner for a great big new year's kiss!"

Well, England was still holding Romano, and Prussia immediately grabbed Denmark, and they turned to see what was happening in the rest of the room. Liechtenstein and Ice were discreetly parked in a corner, and Latvia and Sealand gave each other funny embarrassed looks, but Russia was having a really hard time of it. Ukraine, Belarus, and now America were all fighting over him. For a moment it seemed as though Russia might actually cave in to his psycho little sister, and then he smiled, grabbed America by the hand and towed him out of the room. Ukraine stood sadly staring after them, but Belarus – at first paralyzed with shock – began chasing them and screaming.

"Hope he gets away! Kesesese!"

"Poor Ukraine, though." Romano pouted. "Nobody left to kiss."

"Eh, it's all right, sweet thing. Bulgaria's a gentleman. He'll give her a kiss." The gloved nation had indeed stepped closer to the buxom blonde, and she wiped her tears away to offer him a wobbly little smile.

The only others were Poland and Lithuania, dancing again in the corner. Romania ignored them and started counting down in a loud voice. _"_ _Cinci, patru, trei, doi, unu! Un an nou fericit!"_ He smashed another glass against the wall, shocking everyone, and then they all began kissing and hugging and spreading New Year's cheer.

Romania jumped off his little stool and made the rounds of the party, kissing each guest. "Thank you for inviting us," England politely told him; he received a second kiss for that.

"Damn, he's really drunk," Den finally realized, once the host had kissed and passed them.

"Nah. He's like that all the time. He likes necks. Kesesese!"

"Mm. I like necks, too, T.K. Come here and let me – " Denmark stopped speaking and pulled Prussia close, kissing his neck with annoying little slurping sounds.

"Awesome, Den. You'd make an awesome vampire." Prussia ruffled his hair.

"Let's all be vampires next Halloween," Romano suggested with a wicked smile. "I'll host a party at my place."

"Deal! Deal! Hey! You guys all heard that, right?" Prussia turned to bellow to the assembled nations. "Next Halloween, Romano's place! _Awesome!_ "

"Shut up, you loud potato. Give me a New Year's kiss."

"Wish we had that video recorder," Denmark laughed. "I've got to start carrying one around with me."

"Whatever," Romano laughed, kissing Prussia, who beamed.

"Hey, Romano! Are you giving out kisses?" America loomed up behind him.

"Not to you, loverboy. Sorry." But he reached up and patted the hero on the head.

"Belarus catch up with you?" England snickered nastily.

"Yes. What a night. I need to find someone to date," America sighed, glancing at the group.

"Don't look at us!" the Skirmish Brothers yelled, grabbing their coats and running out the front door.

…

 _A footnote I'd forgotten to include in the original: the reason everyone started to get belligerent was because of the creepy, low-toned organ music._


	143. Happy New Year (Greece)

**Happy New Year (Greece).**

Faced with a choice of two New Years' parties, Estonia had opted for Greece's. The weather would be warmer than Romania's, certainly, but also, Cyprus, who was the next nation on the spreadsheet, was more likely to be there. This would provide a perfect romantic opportunity. Estonia sighed happily as he headed south. He'd get Cyprus alone somewhere, tell him how much he always appreciated the island nation's peace-loving nature, and hopefully talk him into a date. Cyprus was pretty cute, too. Yeah, this would work out just fine.

Estonia wore a dark formal suit, his hair carefully combed and his glasses highly-polished. He looked good tonight, and he knew it.

Greece invited him inside with a lethargic smile. The house was decorated cheerily for the holidays…with lots of paper cutouts of cats wearing Christmas hats, or cats sleeping under Christmas trees. Many live cats prowled around, too, and Greece was wearing a black cat scoodie whose ears had been pierced with gold jingle bells. "I'm…glad you could…make it," the host said, jingling. "Please…feel free…to wander around…the house…Drinks are in the…kitchen…"

Estonia wondered if he'd get as far as the G's in his spreadsheet, and sort of hoped he wouldn't. He thanked Greece and walked further in, greeting the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus, and Turkey. "I'm surprised to see you here," he said to the older nation.

"Eh, Greece and I can put aside our differences for the holidays! Right, Greecey? Right? Right!" He punched the host in the arm.

"Ow…yeah…whatever…"

"Is your brother here?" Estonia asked TRNC. "I'd like to talk to him."

"Yes. He's in here somewhere. I think he's talking to Norway in the kitchen."

So Norway was here, too! He'd assumed all the Nordics would be going to Romania for that party. "Thank you," he said politely, turning his steps in that direction.

Behind him he heard a loud bellow from Turkey. "Hey, Jappy! Good to see you!" Estonia peered back over his shoulder to see Turkey enveloping the red-faced Japan in a big bear hug.

"Let go of…my guest..."

"Turkey-san!" Japan struggled to say; Turkey let go.

"Ah ha ha ha, Jappy, you're so much fun to tease. Happy New Year. It's great to see you."

"H-happy new year, Turkey-san."

By now Estonia was out of earshot and found the kitchen. No Cyprus here, though, just France, pouring drinks, and Spain, drinking drinks. " _Bon soir_ , Estonia! What are you drinking tonight?"

"Hi," he smiled to both of them. "I – I'll just have a glass of white wine, I guess." As France found a bottle and poured him a glass, he spoke to Spain. "I guess you couldn't make yourself go to Romania's place, right? Too cold?"

"Too cold, too far away. _Francia_ and I decided to visit Greece and enjoy the nicer weather. Would you like a churro?" He gestured to a plate by his side, stacked high with the treats.

"Thank you." Estonia took his wine glass from France and a churro from the plate. "Does Greece make these especially for you?"

"No," Spain smiled. "I had to bring them myself. But at least I know there will be something edible here, not mice or grape leaves."

"M-mice?" Estonia squeaked. Even during the worst famines in his country, no one had ever eaten _mice._

France laughed and patted him on the shoulder. "It's a Greek delicacy. But you don't have to eat it. There are plenty of other tasty treats here."

"Th-thank you for the warning, though." He finished the delicious churro and wanted another, but if Spain had dragged them all the way here, he didn't want to be rude and take them from him. "Have you seen Cyprus?"

" _S_ _í_ _,_ he was just in here; _Francia_ made him a whiskey sour."

"You're playing bartender all night?"

"No. I just got stuck here. Want the job?" France and Spain both chuckled at that.

"No, thanks!" Estonia grabbed the wine glass and beat a hasty retreat.

Out in the large main room, he saw Norway, Sweden and Finland huddled together. He waved politely to them, passing through, seeking Cyprus.

Eventually he ran him to ground on the back deck of the home, staring up into the sky with a wistful expression. The smaller nation didn't even look around as Estonia approached, but spoke quietly. "Wouldn't you like to visit the stars?"

What a charming opening. Estonia moved to his side. "I have often thought it would be interesting to journey in space, although my heart would still be here at home."

But Cyprus jumped. "Oh! I – I'm sorry. I thought you were – were someone else." In the full moonlight his face glowed; his confusion was evident.

"Forgive me. But it was an interesting discussion nonetheless." Estonia moved a bit closer. "I'm actually glad to find you alone. I've been wondering whether you'd like to go on a date with me sometime. I'd love to come see your home." He smiled encouragingly.

"M-me? Wh-what – I – oh, I'm so sorry! Th-there's someone else I'm interested in. Th-that's who I thought was coming out on the deck with me. I'm so sorry!" Cyprus was now red-faced and turned away.

"That's all right. I apologize if I've caused you distress." Estonia tried to make his voice calm and mature. "Would you like me to leave you alone?"

"I'll go," Cyprus offered, and scurried into the house.

Well, that was disappointing. On the other hand, Estonia hadn't really been emotionally invested in the idea of dating him. For one thing, he'd heard the island nation was a bed-wetter. While that rumor may have been Poland's idea of a joke, Estonia still wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea. What if they'd ended up sharing a bed, like he'd done with Canada, and the rumor was true? Ugh.

Then he wondered whether Canada and Bulgaria would be here tonight. Damn. But no. Bulgaria was a good, good friend of Romania's, so they'd probably be at that party. He still felt a little bit of arousal when thinking of that nation, and had to keep trying to shunt that out of his brain.

Estonia then daydreamed a little, staring up at the stars much as Cyprus had been doing, and then he felt a gentle touch on his back. He jumped. "Oh! Norway. Hello."

"Hello." Norway, a drink in hand, came to stand next to him at the deck's railing. "Pretty night," the Nordic nation said.

"Yes. I'm always so optimistic on New Year's. A fresh start. Like something really great is going to happen in the New Year." Estonia sighed. "More often than not, though, it's the same old runaround."

"I know." Alone on the deck, the two of them stargazed for a while without talking.

"Can I get you another drink?" the Baltic nation then asked politely, noticing that his companion's glass was empty.

"No. Would you like to go out with me?" Norway said flatly, still eying the nighttime sky.

"Wh-what?" Estonia lost his breath. Someone was asking him for a date! And it was _Norway?_ "Oh," he realized. "Denmark put you up to this?" His tone was sad. He didn't want a pity date, for crying out loud! Damn Denmark. What an interfering, bossy nation he was. Just because he knew Estonia was in the market –

But Norway turned frowning eyes to him. " _Danmark_? No." Those eyes traveled up and down Estonia's confused face. "Will you?"

"Ah – I – I guess, sure," he stammered, by now only concerned about getting his alphabetical progression out of order. Then he realized that was an idiotic concern and squared his shoulders. "Yes, Norway, I'd like to go out with you! Then we really can have a good start to the new year." He smiled as the idea grew on him. "Yes."

"Good." A tiny smile appeared on the Nordic's face, but he didn't speak any further.

This was still a little confusing, but Estonia decided to roll with it. He turned back to the stars. "Ve!" they heard behind them. "Happy new year, Norway and Estonia!"

"Happy new year, Italy," both of them said, turning. North Italy was clinging to a blushing Germany's arm and beaming. "Hi, Germany," Estonia added.

"Hello. It is a very nice night here in Greece, isn't it?" He raised his beer bottle in a toast, lifting Veneziano off the ground slightly.

"It's always nice in Greece. Just like in Italy, ve. And look, it's a full moon!" Veneziano let go of Germany and came to the deck railing. "I love to think of the moon shining down on all the nations of the earth. It's like a blessing, you know? And a full moon on New Year's, ve, how awesome."

"Speaking of awesome, is Prussia going to be here?"

"Ah, no," Germany replied. "He went to Romania's party with – ah – with Denmark." He blushed as he met Norway's eyes, but the Nordic nation didn't react.

"Ve, Romano and England are there too. I bet it's spooky, with a full moon at that place!"

"Still, Italy, your idea of the moon as a benediction is very poetic." Estonia pushed his glasses up his nose. "As if it's shining down to bind us all in harmony."

"Ve, that's pretty poetic too!" All three of the others were now smiling at him, even Norway (though his smile was very, very subtle). Maybe Norway appreciated poetry? Estonia had a lot of research to do. He hadn't planned on getting to the N's for a long time.

Germany put his arm around Italy. "I'm glad the world is becoming a safer place." The other three made noises of agreement.

"Come," Norway then said, touching Estonia lightly on the sleeve of his jacket. "Leave them some peace."

"Ve, that's nice of you, Norway." Veneziano cuddled up to the blushing Germany again. "Have fun at the party!"

Together the Baltic and Nordic nations walked inside, adjusting to the louder noise level. "Would you like a fresh drink?"

"Yes. Thanks." Norway led the way back to the tiny kitchen, where Hungary, Austria and Switzerland were all crammed behind the bar, apparently looking for mixers.

"Hi!" Hungary shouted, her eyes flicking from Norway to Estonia and back again before lighting up delightedly. "Want a drink?"

"Don't offer them drinks; we can't find anything," Switzerland growled. Only the top of his beret was visible above the bar.

Austria, meanwhile, struggled with a corkscrew and a fresh bottle of wine. "I don't know why he doesn't have someone here doing bartender duty," he snarled. "This is ridiculous."

"Then don't drink," Estonia suggested. "Just go enjoy the party!"

"This party is too casual. I like formal parties. But – but _Hungary_ wanted to see all the _cats_." Austria's voice dripped with venom.

"Oh, don't be silly," she said. "Cats are cute, and you know Romania brings back bad memories for you." She picked up a nearby cat and cuddled it.

"We could have gone to China's party. I don't get to see the Asian nations enough."

"Will you two shut up and help me find the damn vermouth?" Switzerland yelled, still crouched behind the bar.

Norway and Estonia looked at each other in panic. "I don't need a drink."

"Me neither," Estonia said, and they fled the room. "Whew."

"Very touchy," his now-date agreed. He led the way back to the room where Estonia had first seen him talking to Sweden and Finland. Those two were now nestled together in a corner, flirting with each other. This always – _always_ – surprised Estonia. Finland, he could completely understand. But watching the quiet Swede tickle Finland under the chin, or bend down to (presumably) coo words of love into his partner's ear with a soft smile – that baffled the Baltic nation, and he often spent quiet time during meetings, pondering this.

"Hi, guys!" Finland chortled. "Nice to see you, Estonia. Why are you carrying an empty wine glass around?" Estonia explained the drama at the bar.

Sweden snorted. "Sw'tzerland's too uptight. He'll be all right a lit'l lat'r."

"Once he has a drink or ten," Finland agreed.

Estonia always felt comfortable talking to the Nordics. "How were your Christmases?"

"We didn't have as much snow this year as usual. But Santa managed to come to everyone, and I got a new set of snowshoes! So did Sweden!"

"I go through'm pretty quickly. 'S nice t'get th' latest model."

"What about you, Norway?" Finland asked. "Anything new and exciting for Christmas?"

Norway's eyes drifted to the ceiling as he thought. "No," he eventually said.

"Oh, well. Maybe the new year will bring something new and exciting."

Estonia darted a peek at Norway and saw him blushing, with a tiny little smile. This made the Baltic nation smile, too.

"Y'two are datin'?"

Oh, that was forward of Sweden. "Uh – uh – "

"Yes," Norway said flatly, and conversation ground to a halt.

"I'll see if the bar's safe now," Estonia decided. "What are you drinking, anyway, Norway?"

"White wine."

"Okay. Stay put!" he called out, practically running from the room.

He felt intensely embarrassed by Sweden's question. Of course Sweden and Norway were close – like all the Nordics – but to ask that question point-blank! And, he and Norway weren't _really_ dating. Not yet. What could he say?

The bar was completely empty of people; he found the bottle that Austria had been struggling with – still with the corkscrew embedded in the cork – and opened it, pouring a glass each for himself and his…new boyfriend? He grinned. Might as well step up and deal with it.

On his way back to the big room, he bumped into Canada, sloshing a little wine onto his hand. "Oh! I – I'm sorry, Mat- uh, Canada." He tried discreetly to blot the back of his hand on his jacket.

But Canada smiled nicely at him. "That's all right. Happy new year, Eduard."

"A-are you here with Bulgaria?" He despised himself for asking, but he had to know. Both of those nations had been great dates, each in his own way, and he still felt extremely bad about the way they'd both ended up.

Matthew's expression grew sad. "N-no. He – I – we don't hang out any more," he concluded, in a weaker tone than usual.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up any bad memories."

"It's all right. I'm – " He interrupted himself as Cyprus came barreling out of a side hallway and hugged him.

"There you are, Canada! I've been looking all over for you!"

Estonia froze as the shy Cyprus began planting kisses all over Matthew's red face. _That's_ who he'd been waiting for? "Uh! See you, Canada," he blurted, hurrying back to Norway with the wine.

"There," he panted, handing over the glass. Sweden and Finland had moved on, and Norway was now standing with Japan. Neither spoke, but Norway took a deep drink from the glass, as though something had happened and he needed to stabilize his nerves. Estonia did the same.

"Hi, Japan."

"Estonia-san. Are you enjoying the party?"

"It's another wild one! Switzerland is here, and he's crabby. Be careful!" he said playfully.

But Japan surprised him with his response. "I can handle Switzerland."

And in fact a flushed Switzerland came up to them with a drink in hand. "Japan. Hello."

"You are not in a good mood today, Switzerland-san?"

"I need another drink. Austria made me bring this damn Nerf gun again. I don't even know why I listen to him."

"Because you love him." This comment, coming from Norway, stunned the small group into silence.

"I haven't even seen him yet." Japan placed a hand on Switzerland's sleeve. "Take me to him? I want to pay my respects."

"Sure." The two left the corner of the room.

"Where would you like to go for our first date?" Estonia wondered. Now that they were alone he felt comfortable discussing it.

"Hiking?"

"In January? I don't really mind, but it's not the time of year I'd have chosen for it."

"My country has warm areas in January. See the Midnight Sun?"

Estonia had heard of this phenomenon but never yet experienced it. "Yes, please! I would love to see that."

"Okay. Hiking and camping to see the Midnight Sun."

"That really does sound fun. When do you want to go?"

"Next Friday."

Norway was a very decisive nation! "A-all right."

Screams and yells began pouring from an upstairs room. Greece, moving faster than Estonia had ever seen him move, jingled up the stairs with Turkey in hot pursuit. "Hurry it up, Greecey!" the older nation shouted, poking his host in the back.

"Wonder what that's all about?"

Norway shrugged.

In moments, Greece came jingling back down the steps pushing Austria and Hungary; Turkey pinned the struggling Switzerland's arms behind him. "Thank you for coming…but you had all better…leave now…"

"But it's not even midnight!" Hungary screeched.

"I don't want…my party disrupted…by your…romantic problems…"

"Romantic problems?" Estonia whispered to Norway, who shrugged.

"Damn you, Austria!" Switzerland yelled. A cat streaked past; he broke free of Turkey and shot at it with the Nerf gun, though he missed. "Damn!"

"Get out," Turkey said, shaking him and shoving him towards the front door. "If Greecey wants you to go, go."

"Do you really want us all to leave?" Austria asked politely.

Greece took a deep breath. "Yes! My cats…you _shot_ …"

"But I didn't get to pet all the cats!" Hungary yelled.

"That's the magic word," Estonia whispered again. Norway nodded, and indeed, Greece caved in.

"All right…you can stay…just be nice…" He jingled off towards the kitchen. The Alpine nation scowled and stalked out of the room in one direction and Hungary dragged Austria off in another.

"So much for the moon blessing all the nations." Estonia pushed his glasses up his nose. A cat rubbed against his leg.

"Forget them. Come outside?"

Why not. Probably Italy and Germany had moved on. He nodded and followed Norway out back again.

But someone had put music on, and nations were dancing wildly around the deck. Germany pressed his lips together and kept his eyes on the horizon as he danced with Veneziano; Hungary was shaking her hips wildly, although Austria was a lot more subdued. France and Spain kept trying to pull Japan onto the dance floor, but he was resisting.

"Want to dance?" Estonia asked. Norway shook his head _no_ and went back into the house.

Huh. That was weird. Did he want Estonia to come with him? Maybe he was having second thoughts. If he didn't like dancing, and he thought Estonia did –

"Come in!" Norway said from the doorway. _Oh._

For the rest of the evening the two of them stayed wedged in the corner of the living room, empty glasses in hand, watching the other nations and not saying much. Estonia hadn't considered, before, Norway's taciturn nature. He himself was a talker. It might be tough to deal with someone who didn't speak much.

On the other hand, Finland was more of a gabber than he was, and Sweden was pretty damn reticent, too. And they got along just fine. It shouldn't be a problem.

"It's…soon midnight…" Greece drifted through the room so slowly that his jingle bells didn't make a noise.

"Ve!" they heard. "Kiss for good luck!" People began setting their drinks on tables to have hands free.

All the nations at the party crowded into the living room for the countdown. "Πέντε, τέσσερα, τρία, δύο, ένα! Ευτυχισμένος ο καινούριος χρόνος!"

Cheers and whistles erupted as the New Year officially began. Nations began kissing one another wildly. Estonia turned to Norway, unsure of how to proceed, and felt a deep shock – and, yes, delight – to find the Nordic nation pressing a hot kiss to his lips. Estonia embraced him and kissed back quite thoroughly. Luckily nobody was paying attention.

It began to slide into erotic kissing; tongues came into play. Estonia stopped thinking and melted into Norway's arms, pressing against him.

Then he saw Canada out of the corner of his eye and it was like a bucket of cold water on him. "Er. Uh. N-Norway. Not here." He drew back and tugged on the hem of his jacket, blushing, and then pushed his glasses up his nose.

"Not here," Norway agreed; his face was red, but his eyes were dreamy. Damn! Estonia was really looking forward to their date next Friday!

…

 _I did realize (after the initial publication of this chapter) that the Midnight Sun would not be visible in January. But, for plot purposes, I'm letting it stand. Sorry._


	144. An Exhausting Date

**An Exhausting Date.**

Estonia was in pretty high spirits. He and Norway had their backpacks with their camping gear, and so far they'd had a really lovely day of hiking! He was surprised that Norway was slightly chattier when they were alone, too. Surprised and happy about it. It wasn't stressful to make conversation at all.

His host had discoursed about the area they were now hiking through, as well as the area where they would camp. Even if this hadn't been a date, he'd have enjoyed it. The scenery was beautiful; Norway himself pleasant and calm. They'd had a tour guide drive them to Narvik and had hiked to one of the Nordic nation's favorite secluded areas in order to set up camp. They actually weren't that far from Sweden, at this point. Estonia idly wondered whether Sweden and Finland ever camped up in this area.

"We can make camp here," Norway told him, gesturing to a clearing protected by tall trees. "If we pitch the tent with the door flap facing this way, we can look out and see the sun all night. Will the brightness bother you?"

"It shouldn't. I sleep with the curtains open at home, and I sometimes nap in the afternoons, when the sun is up. So this sounds like a good plan."

They dropped their bags and began rummaging through them for the required equipment. The first thing Estonia did was open up his portable solar panel and plug in his cell phone. "Mightn't get reception, up here," Norway pointed out. "But you shouldn't need your phone."

"Oh. All right." But he set it out anyway. Charging his phone by the light of the Midnight Sun! It was worth it just to be able to say he'd done it.

In just a few minutes, working together, they'd pitched the tent and organized their gear. "Come inside," Norway beckoned. "This tent's a little heavy to carry, but it's snug and windproof."

"That's good." Estonia followed him inside and they arranged their sleeping bags.

Once settled in, both lying face-down atop the bags and gazing out the tent flap at the sun on the water, Estonia said quietly, "Thank you for inviting me. It was a big surprise."

"I've been watching you for a little while," Norway confessed. "You're so level-headed. Sometimes I wonder how anyone can deal with these noisy, crazy nations. But I thought we might get along well."

The Baltic nation turned and smiled. "I hope we do. I don't see any problems so far."

"You're good at camping, too!" Norway gave him a little smile. "I worried that I'd have to do all the work."

Estonia was shocked. "That wouldn't be polite at all! It's always good to be helpful. Even if I didn't know what I was doing, I would have asked for instructions."

"See? I do like you. This is just what I mean. Level-headed and sensible."

Estonia sighed. 'Level-headed and sensible' was the curse of his life. He'd love to be thought of as dashing and romantic, like France, or wild and fun like Prussia, but instead he was… _level-headed and sensible_. Still, at this point he knew he wouldn't be able to easily change – and he was also aware that every nation in the world would be suspicious of him, if he tried – so, level-headed and sensible it would have to be. He pictured himself bursting into a world meeting, bearing a rose and cackling maniacally, and shook his head in dismay, imagining the laughter and baffled looks of the other nations. "Your country is so nice," he said, to take his mind off that, "so unspoiled, this far north."

"Most of the northern countries have areas like this. I find it soothing to be up here. I don't have the pressure that I feel when I'm in the busier areas."

"You're not nearly as reticent as you usually are," Estonia agreed.

Norway nodded. "People talk too much, and it makes me shy. But I can relax when I'm alone with someone." He reached out for Estonia's hand; the Nordic nation's skin was cool and soothing, and Estonia smiled. They lay on top of their sleeping bags, gazing romantically at the sun, the beautiful Arctic vista, holding hands, for a while.

"Do you want to zip our sleeping bags together?" Norway gave him a tiny little smile.

Well. That was bold. But Estonia could be bold. "I don't mind," he responded, and then blushed, pulling his hand away and pushing his glasses up his nose. That was a very rude response; he should have acted more eager. Maybe Norway would think he was indifferent? He didn't want to seem like he was here to take advantage of him, though.

"You're very cute, Estonia. Come on. Let's zip the bags together."

The two of them rose and quickly fixed up the sleeping bags, slipping inside the cocoon that had been warmed by their body heat. "I'm thankful for modern science," the Baltic nation offered. "These sleeping bags are a huge improvement over the ones from the middle of the century."

Norway snuggled closer. "Good thing we generate so much body heat," he agreed, taking Estonia's hand again and rolling over, so that he was on his back. With his other hand he removed his winter hat. His blond hair shone faintly in the reflected sunlight.

He was really adorable. Estonia began to lean down for a kiss, but then the memory of Bulgaria popped into his head. Uh. While Norway didn't seem shy about touching, he might – might not be happy if Estonia suddenly started plastering kisses on him. For one thing, they were miles from everywhere; not so easy to get away, as it had been on the date with Bulgaria.

He felt himself growing embarrassed, as he always did when thinking of that dark-haired nation. He'd been so damn clueless. Well, he absolutely wouldn't make that kind of misstep with Norway or anyone else!

Anyone else? Why was he thinking that way? He was on a date with Norway, who apparently was enjoying it. Why would there be "anyone else" in his future?

"Hello?" Norway said, poking him in the cheek.

"Huh?" He jolted his focus back to the moment. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's all right." Norway didn't seem perturbed. "I get distracted too, sometimes. Should we take our clothes off?"

 _Eh?_ "I – I – sure," he responded, not wanting to appear gauche.

The two of them hastily disrobed, struggling a little inside the warm sleeping bag, elbows and knees competing for the limited space. Estonia tried to calculate just how much room for movement there was in here. Enough, he supposed. They pulled the discarded clothing out of the bag and tossed it into piles inside the tent.

So…naked, by the light of the Midnight Sun? That was kind of interesting, too. Certainly something to remember. Maybe he and Norway could hike up here every year on this date, the anniversary of their first date. He sighed with happiness and snuggled up, feeling that smooth, clear skin against his.

Norway too moved closer, hooking a leg around Estonia's and pulling their bodies together. "Uh," Estonia said blankly.

"Take your glasses off!" Norway giggled a little. Estonia let out a little bark of laughter and set the glasses aside before putting his arm hesitantly around his date and leaning in for a kiss.

The Nordic's lips were soft and inviting. They kissed deeply for several moments; he felt the cool hand traveling up and down his side, his bared back. "Uh!" he yelled, as he felt Norway's hand clasping his – his – "Norway, are you serious? I mean, we barely know each other!"

Norway still didn't seem perturbed as his hand stroked Estonia. "Come on, don't be shy. Touch me." His voice was deeper than usual, almost caressing; the Baltic nation reached shyly out and touched Norway in return.

"Oh, that's good, Estonia. Keep it up." The host used his free hand to pull Estonia down for a kiss, and damn, this felt good, even though it was weird.

He let out a little moan of desire; Norway began rubbing his hip and back again, and used his leg to try to pull Estonia on top of him. Now, Estonia was certainly not backwards in the matter of sex, but this was slightly disturbing. Norway was going too fast.

But it was really only _slightly_ disturbing. He moved atop him, shifting, trying to find a comfortable position for both of them. Of course they both had to let go of each other.

"There's lubricant in my backpack. Hurry it up! I haven't gotten laid since Denmark started dating Prussia!"

That was so freaky that Estonia stopped what he was doing and stared. " _That's_ why you asked me out?"

"Why does anybody ask anyone else out? I mean, the hiking is nice, and all that, but…I need some physical affection."

"So you just want to _get laid_?" The term was a little more vulgar than Estonia would like to use, but he used it.

"Of course. I'm tired of reining myself in. Come on, get the lubricant."

"I – but I – " Hah, was this how Bulgaria had felt? Pressured?

"Oh, don't worry," Norway said, interrupting his thoughts. "I'll make sure you're taken care of, too."

"Th-that's not it. This is all so – so matter-of-fact. Clinical."

"That's why I thought you'd be perfect. You'd understand the motivation and deal with it. None of this pawing around, seduction stuff. In fact," he said, with a little mysterious grin, "maybe I can help you become a Nordic nation, if you do well tonight?"

Oh, Estonia wanted to be a Nordic nation, yes, indeed. But – but – at what cost? He was truly floored by all this, and he absently slipped off Norway to lie next to him. He groped for his glasses. Ah, that was better. He felt a little more in control of this weird situation now. "Norway, if all you wanted was sex, why the date? Why the hiking?"

His date gave him a little scowl. "I'm trying to be nice to you. I thought you would like this."

"So this is your version of flowers and candy?" Estonia felt dirty and used, even though they hadn't gotten very far. "It's not a very good tactic."

"Well? Are we going to do this or not?"

Estonia flopped onto his back, staring at the inside of the tent roof. "Do you want to actually date me? Or was this just for quick satisfaction?"

"Started out as quick satisfaction, but, you know, if you're good tonight, then maybe we can keep seeing each other." Norway's arm began moving under the covers in a motion that was unfortunately quite familiar to the Baltic nation.

Oh, _Kristuse_ , what should he do? This was really embarrassing. Was Norway really going to masturbate right here in the sleeping bag with him?

On the other hand, it would really be impolite to interrupt _that_ and ask to go home. Damn.

"Hand me my shirt," Norway gasped out, apparently unconcerned.

Estonia fumbled for the shirt and handed it over; Norway slipped it inside the sleeping bag. Dear Lord, Estonia was so embarrassed! Since his date was ignoring him, focused on his own satisfaction, the Baltic nation rolled onto his side, his back to his host, and squeezed his eyes shut. _Please let me get out of this gracefully_ , he prayed, even though he was not normally a religious nation. He felt Norway's other hand rest lightly on the muscles of his back, and shivered.

It seemed forever before Norway let out a little gasp and stopped moving. "Why didn't you help?" he asked breathlessly, poking Estonia in the back.

He rolled onto his back again. "I'm – I'm not prepared for something like this, Norway. If we'd been able to get a little closer, then maybe, but this – this is so – abrupt. Truth to tell, I'm freaking out a little." Maybe this honesty would help smooth things out. If they could begin again –

"Yes." Norway took the shirt out from the sleeping bag and tossed it into a corner.

Estonia peered over at him; he was now lying calmly and staring at the ceiling. "Sorry," he offered. "Maybe I'm just too uptight."

"I see."

Oh, damn it all! Now it seemed that Norway was back to his reticent self. Estonia hated that. He'd never have any idea what the Nordic nation was thinking, if they kept dating and Norway wouldn't speak to him. "It's all so confusing," he said out loud.

"True. Do you want to get dressed? To go home?" But Norway was understandably drowsy and seemed disinclined to move.

"I think perhaps I'd better. B-but don't trouble yourself," he said, trying to be generous. "If I can get cell reception, I can maybe get Sweden to pick me up at the border."

Norway gave him a long, cool look, before closing his eyes. "Sorry."

"Me too."

"Call me sometime," Norway said sleepily, before rolling over and beginning to snore.


	145. A Wet Date

**A Wet Date.**

"Meeting time," Estonia sighed to himself, walking down the stairs in the Swiss hotel. Switzerland had chosen a chalet for this meeting, which was nice, but also, the rooms were small and close together. Everyone could hear everyone else. It had been hard to sleep; Prussia and Denmark were in the room next to the one he shared with Latvia, and they'd been up yelling and talking half the night.

He'd spent a lot of time thinking about Egypt. He'd done his obligatory internet research, asked Latvia and Lithuania whether they knew much about him, and mentally braced himself. The only thing anyone could really remember was that he didn't talk much. Even less than Norway.

Estonia wondered how he and Norway would react to each other this week. Sweden had uncomplainingly picked him up after the hiking date disaster, and Estonia had gone on a little drinking binge at home to blot that out of his mind.

Of course, he thought, walking into the meeting room, he now had something of a history not just with Norway, but with many of the other nations. Even if it was just a history of one date. This was a little unnerving, so he tried not to meet anyone's eye as he filled a coffee cup and took some food items from the buffet. Maybe he was getting a _reputation_. Maybe that's why Norway had been so…pushy.

He found his seat – Switzerland always assigned seats to people, because he didn't like being distracted by whispered conversations during the meeting. The Alpine nation felt that if he controlled the seating, by putting cards out, he could control the meeting. But of course half the people just switched the place cards so they sat near their friends.

Denmark on one side, Poland on the other. He sighed. It could be worse. It could be much worse.

Other nations trickled in, including Egypt, who didn't speak and sat at the table at the far end.

"Hey," Denmark said, punching Estonia fondly in the shoulder. "Heard about your date with Norway."

"Y-y-you _did_? What did you hear?" He wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

"Just that you went hiking with him. Did you have fun? Are you two together now?"

"Kesesese! That would be awesome. Norway's the only Nordic nation without a partner." Prussia swapped his seat card for the one on Denmark's other side and sat down.

"Uh. No, we…didn't quite hit it off…"

"Oh, well. Norge isn't easy to get along with. Not talkative enough. Ah, you'll find somebody," Denmark grinned, ruffling up his hair.

Switzerland, looking grumpier than usual and sporting what appeared to be his new default weapon, the Nerf gun, walked to the head of the room and started the meeting.

…

"Will you have dinner with me?" he blurted to Egypt at the end of the day. He'd managed to avoid meeting the eyes of any of his ex-dates, though it had been difficult. Estonia had simply kept his eyes on his laptop most of the day.

Egypt nodded silently, so Estonia pushed forward with "Would you like to try a fondue restaurant?" He was surprised Egypt had said yes. He'd expected a no, a brief few drinks alone in the bar, and some quiet time in the room with his spreadsheet!

Egypt nodded again. "Let me take these things to my room," he whispered.

Aha! So he did speak, once in a while. Estonia had wondered about that. He nodded his agreement. "I'll wait in the lobby."

He moved to the lobby to wait. He had a ton of things to talk about. He'd done a great deal of research, just in case Egypt stayed silent during the meal, so that he would have enough to keep the conversation going.

He put his coat on, idly glancing around at his fellow nations, and someone bundled in an enormous amount of clothing trundled up to him. "Ready," Egypt's voice came from inside the layers and layers of scarf.

"Wow. That's a lot of winter gear! But I guess you don't ever have this kind of weather." Estonia led the way to the hotel's main door.

"Right. I have to stay toasty."

"It is kind of cold, I agree." Though Estonia was only wearing a wool overcoat, no hat, scarf or gloves.

Together they walked through the city, searching for a mutually-acceptable restaurant. In front of a small fondue place Egypt stopped walking and pointed to the menu mounted on the wall.

"Sounds all right to me." Estonia smiled and held the door; his date preceded him into the restaurant.

…

They had a pleasant time over dinner; yes, Egypt was pretty silent, but he communicated in other ways, with smiles, with nods; Estonia never felt like the conversation was flagging, or that his date was losing interest. The two of them drank a great deal of Switzerland's famous Chasselas wine, which was light and not very intoxicating. It went well with the cheese fondue.

They spoke (well, _Estonia_ spoke) of national festivals, climate differences, this week's meeting and other polite talk. Egypt responded, and did make commentary from time to time. Well, Estonia was pretty sure he wouldn't end up _dating_ Egypt, but at least he was having a nice dinner.

He paid the bill and waited patiently for Egypt to re-dress himself in the extra sweater, hat, scarf, coat, mittens and a hood over his hat. "I hope you can stay warm," he laughed, and his date nodded. Estonia himself felt very mellow and toasty, but that was a result of the food and wine.

When they exited the restaurant, the nations discovered that snow had begun to fall. "How lovely," the desert nation breathed. They stood in front of the restaurant admiring the heavy snowfall until another couple came outside.

Estonia now realized his hair was getting wet from the melting flakes. "Come, let's walk back." He felt just slightly tipsy – really nothing to worry about – but he knew he'd need a bathroom soon. And, well, maybe it was selfish of him, but he saw snow fairly frequently, so this wasn't a big deal to him.

But Egypt dawdled as they walked, staring up at the sky and more than once seeming in danger of falling off the edge of the curb. Estonia had to be very vigilant, and held his arm, but progress was slow.

Too slow. He really, really needed a bathroom! And then they rounded a corner and saw a little hillock covered in snow and Estonia began giggling.

Egypt turned to him in surprise. "What?"

"H-have you ever written your name in the snow?" he laughed, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Written –?" Egypt looked baffled, and rightly so.

Still laughing, the Baltic nation glanced around. No one was nearby, and this would solve his – his _pressing issue_. He unzipped his pants and proceeded to pee on the hillock, trying to write _EESTI VABARIIK with_ the stream of liquid. He almost made it, running out just as he got to the second "i."

" _What?_ " Egypt asked, making Estonia laugh even more.

And then, when he was finished, and tucking things away, he snorted audibly when he saw Egypt fumbling with his own zipper, trying to open it with the thick mittens still on his hands. "Do, do you want me to unzip for you?" But that idea was just too ridiculous; he howled.

He couldn't tell if Egypt was mad about that suggestion or not, of course, because the scarf covered so much of his face, but the desert nation removed his gloves and took his member out. He too tried to write something in the snow, but had very bad aim. Estonia kept giggling, and thinking about Arabic handwriting. He wondered whether Egypt would practice writing his name in the sand, at home, and this made him laugh a little louder.

When they were both done, Egypt arranged his winter gear and they stumbled on, not speaking, but both laughing and holding on to each other. Ah, maybe this would work out!

…

Wow. Estonia woke up the next morning with no headache and great memories of that fun walk. Egypt had parted from him in the lobby with a hug (difficult through all the layers of clothing) and a through-the-scarf kiss, promising to sit with the Baltic nation at the meeting tomorrow. That had been so much fun! He knew every male nation in the world did that from time to time, even though half of them would never admit it. (Then he tried to picture Sweden and Finland competing at this, and grinned.) Maybe he and Egypt _could_ have a relationship.

Estonia bounded out of bed, showered and prepared for the meeting, even though Latvia was still in the other bed with his pillow over his head. "See you at the meeting," he called out happily, receiving no response.

Down in the meeting room – which was mostly empty – he sat, doodling on his touchscreen laptop, waiting for Egypt, and when that nation walked into the room, he beamed.

But the desert nation shook his head sadly and went to the back of the room again. This was so distressing that Estonia hopped right up and went to talk to him. "Are you all right? What's wrong? Hangover?"

"Sorry." There was a little pause. "Too embarrassed."

"About what? Oh, that? No problem. Everybody does that when it snows."

Egypt shook his head. "Sorry," he repeated, turning to look out of the windows. "Can't."

As usual, Estonia was not going to push himself forward where he wasn't wanted. He nodded sadly and went back to his seat.

At least he could fix up the spreadsheet. He spent most of the morning working on it, ignoring Switzerland entirely.

…

When he got back to his room, Latvia was getting changed for dinner. "Those flowers came for you," he said, gesturing towards a vase with four white roses.

White roses? In Switzerland, in the winter? That was a pretty extravagant gift. Maybe Egypt had thought twice about his refusal? "I wonder who they're from," Estonia mumbled, reaching for the card.

"The card doesn't say," Latvia blurted out, and then covered his mouth.

"Latvia! You read the card? You nosy little twerp!"

Latvia ran screaming out of the room. "Sorry, sorry, sorry!"

Grr. Sometimes that kid really got on his nerves. He opened the card:

I WOULD LIKE TO SPEND TIME WITH YOU. BUT CANNOT WORK UP MY NERVE. LET ME COME TO YOU IN MY OWN TIME.

Not signed. He doubted, now, that it was Egypt, but couldn't say why he felt this way. And of course there was always the possibility that this was some prank spawned by Prussia and his friends, so he couldn't take it at face value.

But if there was someone –


	146. A Delicious Date

**A Delicious Date.**

Estonia sighed. He had taken three months off from pursuing dates, for a couple of reasons:

He was discouraged overall.

He had been trying to guess who'd sent the flowers.

He was nervous about asking France, the next nation on the spreadsheet, for a date!

The spreadsheet had a new column: _Flowers._ In this column he put an _N_ for the people he knew, or strongly suspected, were not the flower-giver. There had been three world meetings since the one in Switzerland, and each time, a vase of four white roses had mysteriously appeared in his hotel room. Latvia had apparently learned his lesson, and stopped reading the cards, but there had never really been any clue on them. The same type of message – that the sender was too shy – printed in big block capitals.

He'd ruled out a prank by Prussia and his friends, because the albino was continually broke, and wouldn't waste his money on exotic flowers over and over again. (Estonia briefly considered that maybe he'd bribed Denmark or Romano to buy them, but concluded that this was unlikely.) He'd also ruled out Canada, who – even if he hadn't been cozy and happy with Cyprus now – would probably have just asked him outright. All of his previous dates, as a matter of fact, had acted completely normal around him at meetings. No blushing, no awkwardness. So he'd figured it was someone he hadn't spent time with yet. France would be more bold, America too clueless, Russia more direct…so it probably wasn't one of them.

Well, here it was time for a new meeting – in Washington – and France was next on his list. Yeah, he'd ask. Might as well. He'd ask on Wednesday, instead of torturing himself about it all week and frantically asking on Friday.

…

Monday and Tuesday he spent time, as usual, paying attention to the meeting. He was often quite surprised that America couldn't keep on track better. He knew this irritated the hell out of Germany, and it irritated him too, but he couldn't do anything about it. No matter how hard people tried to keep America focused, it failed, and usually degenerated into a shouting match between him and England, sometimes with France, Romano, Spain and Russia trying to intervene. He sighed.

France looked really nice today. It was now Wednesday and Estonia hoped for a chance to fill in a hole in the spreadsheet. He felt there wouldn't really be a chance of a lasting relationship, because it seemed everyone was always pursuing France. But maybe they could have a little time together. Estonia paid little attention to the meeting today.

When America adjourned for the day, Estonia packed up his gear and headed towards the back of the room. Oh. France and Spain were hugging each other and talking in low tones. Perhaps he shouldn't interrupt? He hadn't considered they might be dating.

But no. " _Mon cher_ Estonia," France trilled, drawing away from his southern friend. "Did you wish to speak with me?"

"Yes, but if you're busy – "

"Oh, no, no. _Espagne_ , I'll see you later, all right?"

" _Sì, Francia._ Good night." Spain started to leave the room but France grabbed his arm and whispered something into his ear. The dark-haired nation smiled at his old friend and nodded before going away.

"Now, _cher_ Estonia, what can I do for you?"

Estonia blushed. "Will you have dinner with me?"

" _Ohonhonhon!_ Of course I will. Come along! I know just the place. That's one of the benefits of being friends with America. I can always find the best places for things when I'm here." France smiled at him with such a pleasant, gentle smile that Estonia felt cheered, and when he felt the touch of the other's hand, he clasped it eagerly.

…

"I'm happy to be spending time with you," France said, over the appetizers. Was it Estonia's imagination, or did his voice sound deeper and more intimate? "Why did you ask me out?" He kissed his fingertips and caressed the back of Estonia's hand.

"I – simply felt it was time for me to get to know you a little better." Damn! People kept asking him this question and he still hadn't come up with a good response! That would be the first thing on his agenda, once this date was over.

But France was acting so happy and interested that maybe he wouldn't need to worry. Dating the most romantic nation in the world…Estonia sighed happily as France took his hand. "I'm always intrigued by the interest of unfamiliar nations, _mon cher."_ His fingers were very aggressive, squeezing Estonia's!

France ordered their meals with grace and knowledge, which Estonia was glad of, because he was unfamiliar with French restaurants. He was really glad France hadn't wanted to go out for hamburgers!

Then he considered that if – _if_ – he ended up continuing through the spreadsheet, he should try to coordinate the dates with the meetings, so the host nation could take him somewhere local to show off. That would certainly save him a lot of travel time. And he wouldn't have eaten so much Chinese food in Paris…

The meal progressed calmly. France's voice was so alluring. Estonia just wanted to snuggle up to him and feel the warmth of that body –

To take his mind off that, he asked France whether white roses had any particular symbolism for him, keeping his eyes alert for any clue that the bearded nation was the sender.

But no. "No, not particularly. I know the rose is the national flower of _Angleterre._ Why do you ask?"

"England? Oh." Well, it wasn't England. If he sent Estonia white roses, Romano would beat the crap out of him. Both of them. "Pfft. Nothing, really. Just wondering."

"As you wish, _mon cher._ " France shifted his chair closer to Estonia. He'd been doing this all evening, so that by now they were almost sitting side by side, rather than at opposite sides of the small round table. The bill came, and he paid it, signing with a flourish, before relaxing again.

Estonia felt mellow and warm. "I'm surprised you were free this evening. Seems like all the nations in the world want to spend time with you."

France beamed at him. "Ah, but I need to be choosy. You have such a reputation of being clinical that I had to take advantage of your offer. I want to see what kind of heart beats beneath that well-ordered surface." His warm hand caressed Estonia's hair lightly, teasingly.

 _What kind of heart?_ A wildly-beating one, that was for certain. Estonia felt like a teenage girl, inexperienced and nervous, yet eager and intrigued. He smiled at France, trying to come across as an enigma, to hold the alluring nation's interest.

And he was rewarded when France picked up his hand and kissed each fingertip one by one. "Come along, _mon cher Estonie_ ," he purred. "Let us go outside and enjoy the spring air."

Estonia gave his best enigmatic smile again, and they left the restaurant.

…

"Washington is such an interesting city," he began, as the two of them walked hand-in-hand down the Mall in the dark.

But France was not interested in Washington; he drew Estonia into the shadows near the Lincoln Memorial. "America does have some interesting trysting places." He raised one hand to cup Estonia's now-flaming face, lowered the other to stroke his buttocks. "Ah, _Estonie_ ," he murmured, pressing closer, bending his head to kiss the side of Estonia's neck.

Oh, that warm breath, warm mouth – and France's voice was so damn seductive – oh, now he understood why everyone wanted to be with him. This was so much better than Norway's flat attempt at _getting laid_. Estonia smiled, now feeling France's lips on his own, feeling the hand slide around to his front and begin caressing him there. "Too cold," he whispered. "Outside."

"Ah," France murmured, nibbling his earlobe and pressing their bodies together, "do you want to go back to the hotel, _mon beau garçon_?"

Estonia really needed to study more French. "Y-yes, please…"

France took his hand again, after one last kiss, and led the dazed Baltic nation back to the hotel.

…

Estonia felt almost drugged that night, allowing France to tenderly and sweetly seduce him, to teach him lovers' tricks that he'd never known. It was the most passionate night of his existence, and in the wee hours of the morning, when he awoke, languorous and sore, he smiled dreamily and shifted closer to France in the bed.

The other nation didn't awaken, but smiled in his sleep. But Estonia needed to get back to his hotel room and shower before the meeting started. He slipped out of the bed, getting hastily redressed, and left the room, audaciously blowing a kiss to the sleeping nation as he went.

In his own room, Latvia still snored, so he slipped into the bathroom to shower. Even the warm water felt sensuous today, and he was so happy. France understood him so well, and had opened his mind to new sensations and a new way of being. Estonia still felt dreamy and disconnected as he toweled off, dressed in clean clothes, and went into the room to silently work on his spreadsheet.

With a bit of that teenage-girl feeling once more, he put a bright red box around France's name and changed the font. _Ah._ Now he just hoped the mystery rose-giver wouldn't be too offended. Well, if you snooze, you lose, he thought with a suppressed giggle.

He killed a little more time reading about France's national festivals, and so on. Latvia eventually woke up, crabby as usual. When the younger nation was finished dressing, it was time to head downstairs. They left the room together, Latvia grumbling. Estonia didn't care. With a jaunty step, he sailed down the hotel's stairs to the meeting room. He hoped that he and France wouldn't act too goofy in front of the other nations today.

But on the other hand, he felt so good that he didn't really care if they did.

…

As he approached the meeting room, he could hear raised voices inside. Pfft. Probably Prussia, pestering Romano, or something. Grinning, Estonia flung the door open dramatically.

In the corner, a well-groomed France had pinned China to the wall, and had slipped his hand inside the Asian nation's long robe, unmistakably groping his privates. China was alternating between arguing, trying to push the blond away, and kissing him. Estonia froze in the doorway, watching this.

"Hey, Estonia! What are you staring at?" Prussia yelled from the buffet table. "Come get some breakfast!"

But even this loud interruption failed to catch France's attention; he continued to croon and fondle China, who eventually gave in and put his arms around the blond's neck. They began kissing in their corner.

"Estonia!" Prussia yelled again, flinging a bread roll at him; the albino's aim was, as ever, accurate, and it hit the stunned Baltic nation in the head.

"Ow," he said, vaguely, full of disappointment.

Time to change the spreadsheet again.


	147. Things to Do at Midnight

**Things to Do at Midnight.**

Denmark awoke, groggy, from a dream of drums, or gunfire, in his well-lit room. Boy, he hated war dreams. Hated them more than anything he could remember. He lay in the bed, stretching and feeling the pleasure of the cotton sheets against his skin, and decided to get up for a drink of water. He was surprised that he'd fallen asleep so early. It wasn't even eleven yet; the book he'd been reading had fallen out of his hands, onto the bed.

As he padded to the bathroom, the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire startled him again! Who the hell was shooting at him? The sound had come from the window. He crept over to peer over the sill.

Oh. Prussia and Romano stood under the window in the moonlight, picking up gravel to fling at his window; Gilbird circled the albino's head. "What the hell are you doing?" Den hissed, after opening the window.

"Kesesese! Hey! How are you? We thought we'd come see you. We've been bored."

"Why are you throwing rocks at the window? Why didn't you just ring the damn bell?"

"Pfft. Strategy boy thought this would be more fucking amusing." Romano halfheartedly flung his handful of pebbles at the albino.

"Ow. Stop that. Anyway, Den, come on out, let's go do something."

"It's the middle of the night! And I was asleep!"

"Ooh." The way the crimson eyes widened in glee was visible even in the dim moonlight. "Naked, huh? Come down and open the door!"

"You stupid idiot. Just – just put some clothes on, Den, and let us in! It's ridiculous standing here. I feel like I'm chatting with Rapunzel or something, dammit."

"Yeah, all right. I'm too awake now to sleep. Give me a minute." He shut the window and threw on some sweatpants before going downstairs to open the door. He loved his friends, but, damn, sometimes they had bizarre ideas.

"Wah, am I glad you're home," Prussia said, bursting inside and giving him a cursory peck on the cheek. Romano just nodded as he came in and took his jacket off.

"Why are you here, anyway? You guys were out doing shit without me?" Denmark felt a bit put out. He flopped onto the sofa and Prussia joined him.

Romano took the opposite couch. "Ah, Veneziano dragged me up to Berlin today. They're having some stupid romantic dinner."

"Yeah, man, it was terrible. All that kissing and stuff? All I could think about was you, Denny…"

"Argh! Dammit, that's not why I came up here. If you can't stop that, albino potato, I'm leaving."

But Denmark was curious about something else. "Why aren't you with England tonight?"

"Cheh, he had a stupid meeting or something with Swissy. The bastard was supposed to call me when they were done, but he didn't call." Romano pouted.

"Someday you need to get back at him for this sort of thing," Prussia mused. "Some kind of prank, I'm thinking."

"We could do that tonight," Denmark said, rather vaguely. "Since we're all awake and London isn't that far away."

"Right." Romano kicked the coffee table. "Don't you think he'd know we were there to prank him? If we just randomly showed up in the middle of the night? Anybody would be suspicious of us three turning up at this hour." But he appeared to be thinking it over. Gilbird flew over and landed on his lap, cheeping softly; he reached out a hand to pet the little bird on top of its head.

Prussia beamed at this sight before returning to the discussion. "We could totally do it. We're awesome strategists, and we can all be subtle when we put our minds to it."

Before he had finished speaking both his friends had started laughing, and even Gilbird flew around in merriment. "You? Subtle. Right. Bastard." Romano stopped speaking to catch his breath.

"I can be subtle if I have to." Prussia sniffed, sounding just like Austria. Gilbird landed on his head and settled in.

"Come on. Let's make a bet. Let's bet that we can successfully prank England tonight, before dawn, and be subtle about it." Denmark was now glad they'd shown up! This would be fun. "I just need to get some real clothes on."

"What the hell can we do to prank him at this hour? Sneak in and give him a manicure?" Romano snorted. "Paint his fucking fingernails to look like our stupid Brothers flag."

Prussia nodded. "Paint Gilbird on them!"

Den snorted at them. "Are you nuts? That's so unsubtle I can't even believe you mentioned it. How the hell could we do that? The nail polish smell would wake him up."

"I know, I know. How about something with food? We could swap out his fucking scones for rubber ones, or something."

"Too hard to find fake scones in the middle of the night. But…what about tea? We could swap out his tea for something else." Denmark thought about this. "What's like tea, but not?"

Romano laughed. "Tobacco, bastard. Swap his stupid tea for tobacco and convince him to drink it."

"Romano!" Prussia leaped off the couch. "That – is – awesome! Yes! We could totally do that, Den. We could sit there and drink this tobacco tea with him and pretend it's just regular tea, and he'd suck it down. Even if he thought there was something weird about it, if we were all _subtle_ " – he grinned at his friends and waggled his eyebrows – "we could make him think he was coming down with a cold, or something that made it taste funny to him. Come on. Let's go pick up some tobacco and do it."

"I'm game. The only thing that worries me now is, uh, his magic." Denmark scratched his nose. "What if he tries some magic crap on us, if he gets angry?"

Romano seemed entirely too serene as he answered with a smirk. "I'm not afraid of the bastard's magic. He won't touch me," he stated, reaching a hand to the pet tag at his throat. "You two, though…" He let the sentence dangle. "Maybe we shouldn't."

"Nah. My good buddy Arthur wouldn't use magic on me, and so he wouldn't use it on Den. Right? Right."

"If you say so, idiot. It's your funeral." Romano frowned. "What actually happens to your body if you drink brewed tobacco leaves? If we have to sit there and drink this shit with him – "

"Good point. Let me look it up." Denmark hurried to his computer, which was always on, and looked it up. "Hmm. Well, that's weird. It's used as an insecticide."

"What? Did you say insecticide? Cool. Then we won't get worms."

"Ugh, you disgusting moron. Shut up."

"Also," Den announced cheerfully, "it will make you puke."

"Dammit!"

"Well, only if you go swigging it. If we're careful, just sipping it – and maybe brewing it weaker than he likes – we'll be awesomely all right."

"Chigi! _We_ may be all right, but England gulps that shit down like candy! I don't want him hurling all over the place! Imagine what we'll smell like when we get out of there. Plus he'd probably make me stay and help him clean up."

Prussia visibly deflated. "Uh. Yeah. Okay, well, what else could we try?"

"What else is there that brews up like tea, but isn't?"

They sat deep in thought. "What about yerba mate? It's a South American drink, like tea." Prussia looked thoughtful.

"I know what it is, you dumbass potato. I'm surprised that you do."

"Romano, you're always so willing to hurt my feelings. I know a lot of stuff! West doesn't give me much to do, you know, and you guys are always busy, so I read about a lot of things. I bet I'm the most knowledgeable nation in the world."

"Ex-nation," Romano mumbled.

"Fine, well, whatever. Just drop it. Do you think that would work, Den?"

He thought. "We could do that. There's an international market here where we could get some. But that seems like a really lame prank. We should put something in it. Habanero sauce?"

"Yeah, yeah!" Prussia jumped up again. "Totally. I mean, you and I are completely the kings of hot sauce, Den. We could easily drink along with that and fool him. But what about Romano?"

"Don't worry about me, bastard. I can't drink tea, or any shit that's tea-like, at his place. I'll have to drink coffee." He smirked.

"What? No! You have to play along."

"Stupid." Romano kicked the coffee table. "I hate tea, and he knows it. If I suddenly start asking for tea or mate he's going to know something's up. I can help with the prank, but not that way. I can goad him into drinking more, or whatever."

Den agreed. "Well? If we're going to do this, we need to get moving."

"So, we'll buy some fucking yerba mate and habanero sauce, go to England's, and you two will drink it with him all night, without letting him realize it? What happens if we win?"

"If we do it successfully, I'll treat you two to another awesome Nürburgring day."

Both the others stared at him. "You're kidding! You can do that? I thought Germany had to arrange it?" Denmark asked him, just to be sure.

"Ah, you know I can manipulate West. If I give him some money he'll be happy to get rid of us. Let's do it."

"C-can England go with us, then? I th-think he'd really like to race." Romano blushed and Prussia hugged him.

"Of course he can awesomely race with us. I mean, after all, if we win our bet it's mostly due to him anyway. So, go get dressed, Den, and we'll get this done."

…

Out in the street, the three friends crept stealthily towards England's front door, Gilbird silently nesting in Denmark's hair. "It's only midnight! Why are we sneaking around like this?" Romano wondered. There was still quite a bit of traffic around.

"Strategy! Put us in the proper mood!" Prussia gave him a theatrical wink and a thumbs-up. "Come on."

They tiptoed up the steps to the townhouse's front door, holding their breath, and a loud ringtone split the night and scared the hell out of them all; Gilbird flew twenty feet straight up into the air. "Jesus!" Denmark hissed, stumbling. "Whose phone?"

Romano panted, bracing himself against the banister, the other hand pressing down on his heart. "Mine, bastard. Hold on." He took the phone out of his pocket and answered it breathlessly. "Yeah?...Yeah…You're kidding. Just now? Is he still there?...Oh, good." The three friends looked at each other in a panic. Good thing Swissy wasn't still here! Romano continued speaking. "So you're still awake?...Oh, shut up, bastard, you know what I mean." He paused for a few moments and then gestured to Prussia to ring the doorbell. "Just out and about, shooting the shit with Den and the albino potato."

Prussia rang the doorbell and they all heard a yelp from Romano's phone. "Kesesese," Prussia whispered. Gilbird came back down and sat on his shoulder.

"Yes, you idiot, it is. Come let us in. We were bored so we came to see you."

England flung open the front door and all three of the friends jumped back in shock. He had his magic cloak on, the hood shadowing his face, which was eerily lit from below by the glow of the phone screen. "What's with you gits? Get in here."

"You're wearing your cloak! What for? Not going to cast any curses on us?" Prussia pushed the hood back.

"Oh. Sorry. Did I scare you?" England pinched Romano's cheek with a grin.

The Italian smacked his hand away. "Stop that, bastard; you're as bad as stupid Spain."

The expression on England's face was remarkable, and Romano laughed and gave him a quick little hug. The island nation stuck his phone in his pocket again and closed the door behind Denmark. "So what are you doing tonight? Just loafing around?"

Everyone walked into the parlor. "Yeah. Spent some time at Den's, got bored." Prussia patted the couch next to him. "Come sit, Ethel, dear. I missed you."

England rolled his eyes. "Do you want anything to drink? Beer, tea? Romano, do you want coffee?"

"Sure, bastard. I'll help you make the shit. What do you two slackers want?"

"We brought some yerba mate," Denmark announced, holding out the grocery store bag. "Prussia and I have never tried it, so we thought we could all try it together."

England peered at Romano. "Not you? Not brave enough to try it?"

"Cheh. Too much like fucking tea. I want coffee." He grabbed the bag from Den and stomped off towards the kitchen.

"Right. We'll be right out, wankers." England followed him.

"Oh, sit down, Arthur. I'll go help Romano. All we've been doing all day is loafing around, and you've been busy with your Swissy thing, right? Just relax with Den, take the cloak off. We'll be right out. Romano knows where everything is, right?"

"Right. Thanks, Gilbert." He blew the albino a kiss and threw his cloak on the chair by the fireplace.

As they watched Prussia saunter away, Denmark turned back to the host. "So, what about Swissy? Did you make him happy?"

England snorted. "Nothing ever makes that git happy. But at least we worked out a plan. If it doesn't work – " He left the sentence dangling and shrugged.

"Why _were_ you wearing your magical gear? Casting a spell on him?" Den started howling with laughter at the indignant expression on the island nation's face.

When he finally stopped guffawing, England snapped, "Yes."

But before the Dane could ask about this, the other two returned with a tea tray holding four cups and a teapot. "Drinks, bastards."

Prussia set the tray on the table and Romano handed the cups around.

"What made you decide to try mate?" England wondered. "I've heard of it, but never had it." He sipped it, and the three friends desperately pretended not to be paying attention to him. "Hm. Not quite what I imagined. More like spicy tea! But it's not bad. Thank you." He sipped again, having apparently forgotten about his question.

Denmark and Prussia hurriedly tested their habanero-laced mate. "Oh, this is good stuff," Prussia stated. "Very different, for me."

Den couldn't really tell if he was faking it or not. Guess he _could_ be subtle! Heh. "It's not bad," he said. Though it was kind of intense. England must be really tired, not noticing that. "Romano, you should try some."

"Maybe later, bastard. So what are we doing tonight?"

"What have you got?" Prussia asked. "Monopoly?"

"Argh, no!" Denmark cuffed Prussia on the side of the head, nearly spilling his drink. "Not that again."

"Sauced on mate," Romano muttered with a grin.

"Listen, gits, I'm really glad to see you all," and England flashed Romano a little smile, "but mentally I don't think I'm up to any such shite. I guess we could play poker or something. But only if we have tiny bets; I'm too tired to be too risky."

"We could play without bets. Or, yeah, we could play it like a drinking game! Losers have to chug a full cup of mate!"

"Except I'm not drinking it, albino potato."

"Oh. Right. Well? Losers have to chug their drink?"

"Yeah, all right." Denmark stood up. "Move to the kitchen?" Ah, but it would be harder to put the habanero in the cups if they did that. England might see.

Apparently Prussia was thinking the same panicked thoughts, but England said, "No. Come in the dining room; we can play in there. Let me get the cards and chips. You blokes make some more of this stuff." He drained the dregs of his cup and put it back on the tray.

"Kesesese! All right. Romano and I will be on kitchen duty. Den, you go help Arthur set up the table. Do we need anything else? Snacks?"

"There are things in the pantry," England reminded Romano. "Pretzels, crisps, whatever. No scones today, though."

"Oh, England," Romano wailed, the back of a hand pressed against his forehead. "No scones? Oh, bastard, I came all the way to London just to _eat your home-baked scones._ " But he couldn't maintain this and began spluttering.

England scowled at him and gave him a shove. "Git. Go do some work."

Prussia and Romano laughed together as they took the tea tray back to the kitchen.

…

"Right. The game is seven-card stud. Ante up. Opening bid is two chips. Whoever's got the least number of chips at the end of this hand has to chug his drink." England shuffled; Denmark, to his right, cut the deck.

"I'm not going to lose," Prussia decided. "Though, now, if we were playing _strip_ poker, I might lose on purpose."

"Forget it, you moron. I don't want to see you naked!"

"But Romano! I glow in the moonlight, and there's a full moon tonight. I also glow a bit under black light. I used to have a whole disco type of setup in the basement, and – "

"Shut up and play, dammit!"

…

By three a.m., Denmark was seriously regretting this dumb bet. Both the mate bet, and the poker bet! England and Romano had both been on winning streaks tonight, which meant that Prussia and Den had had more than their fair share of the habanero drink. Romano kept grinning, matching them cup for cup even though he didn't have to, and England calmly sipped his drink and played poker with a quiet demeanor.

"Good thing we're not making real bets," Prussia groaned, a short while later. "I'm exhausted and floating! I need the bathroom."

"Me too," Den said. Yes, he needed the bathroom, but he also wanted to strategize with Prussia. They escaped from the room before either of the others could give any ridiculous commentary.

"Man, this is gross," Prussia whined, hurrying to the bathroom. "I thought I could handle it, but it's disgusting. And Arthur isn't even losing!"

"But he's still drinking, and he hasn't complained. That was the only term of the bet."

"Yeah, but ugh. At least Romano can drink coffee. Though he might be getting sauced." Prussia leaned over the toilet. "Think I can make myself puke? I feel disgusting."

"Don't do it, stupid. Just make the next pot of mate without any habanero!" Den shoved him aside and used the facilities.

"Yeah, I guess. But I feel kind of lame, caving in like that."

"If I thought it would do any good, I'd tell you to keep going, but it looks like we'll win on technicalities but kill ourselves. Just do what you need to do." He flushed and washed his hands.

"Yeah, all right," Prussia groaned. "Put the bag of pretzels at my seat. Maybe they'll soak up some of this shit."

"Okay." Den left him in the bathroom and went back to the dining room.

…

Two hours later things were looking good, though Gilbird had fallen asleep on the pile of spare poker chips and nobody wanted to disturb him, so they'd changed the rules a little. England had begun losing, and was carefully (yet slowly) draining his cup every time. Denmark, whose mouth was numb, didn't know whether Prussia had stopped putting habanero in the pot or not, though, and he couldn't ask him or Romano with England sitting right there! They played on, taking occasional bathroom breaks.

England was beginning to look a little green around the gills, too, Den noticed. Good. It wasn't right that he and Prussia should suffer for this damn bet all by themselves!

Romano was in the clear lead, although he too sipped happily from his cup periodically. "Bastards, how are you doing? Not too tired of drinking yet?"

"No," Prussia moaned, "but we're running out of mate."

"What? We brought a whole pound!" Denmark's eyes bugged out. "How is that possible? We haven't been drinking _that_ much, have we?"

"Of course you have, git! Three of us, drinking it nonstop? Besides, you have to use a lot of leaves to make a pot of mate. It's not like using a teabag."

"H-how did you know that?" Romano wondered.

"I'm not an idiot, you know. I do _know_ about it, even though I never had it. Anyway, we can make regular tea if we run out of your shite. Come on. Are we playing?"

"Soon dawn," Prussia pointed out weakly. "I think I'll go home at dawn."

"Good idea, T.K. Yeah, deal."

England dealt. "What about you, wanker? You staying here?" he asked his boyfriend.

"Cheh, of course I am. Why should I haul my ass all the way back to Italy when there's a nice cozy bed right here waiting for me?" He pinched the island nation's cheek and all three of the others stared at him.

"He _is_ sauced," Prussia laughed, finally. "Come on. Play."

…

At five-thirty the mate was gone, the bottle of habanero sauce empty, Romano bouncing off the walls, and both Prussia and Denmark felt sick and gross. "I'm heading for home," Prussia said, as decisively as he could. "Take me home, Den. Or to a hospital. God, that stuff is horrible."

Denmark was sweating and mopped his brow. "Sure. Hey, thanks, you guys. We'll – ah – we'll get together soon?"

England seemed quite in control of himself, and very concerned for his friends, though his hands gripped the door jamb and his face was still quite pale. "Are you sure you're all right? We could take you to a hospital here, or I have some syrup of ipecac? If you think it would help." He burped. "Excuse me."

"Not sure that would do any good." Romano eyed them all critically. "I mean, it's in their systems already, for the last, what, five hours? I think they should wait until it works out of their system. But yes, we could take you to the hospital here, if you really thought it would help."

"Nah. It's not that bad; I just feel miserable. I'm never going to drink yerba mate again," Prussia groaned again. "Come on, Den." He beckoned to Gilbird, too, who cheeped gently and landed on his hair.

"Call us when you feel better," England told them, waving as they headed down the steps.

Romano closed the door and turned to the blond. "Bastard, are you sure you're all right?" He cupped his friend's face carefully.

"Eh, yeah, not bad. But I think Gilbert's right. I'm not going to touch the stuff again. Give me Earl Grey any day."

"Don't worry about it. Come upstairs; let's get some sleep. You'll feel better later."

"All right."

Together they slowly went up the stairs, Romano nervously attending to the weakened island nation. They went sketchily through their pre-bed routines, halfheartedly washing up, and slipped under the covers of the big bed together. "I'm glad you came to see me, git, even though I now feel so bad."

Romano kissed his cheek. "Just rest. I can stay all weekend."

"Mm. Good. Good night."

"Good night, bastard."

England fell asleep within seconds, and Romano lay awake, hugging to himself the delicious secret joy of having pranked all three of his friends into drinking that disgusting goo for five hours. Too bad he'd never be able to tell anyone.


	148. Better than Nürburgring

**Better than Nürburgring.**

"So, are we awesomely going to race at the Nürburgring next weekend?" Prussia asked Den, at the end of a long week of meetings.

To his amazement Denmark wouldn't meet his eyes. "Next weekend? I, uh, well, I c-can't do it, n-next weekend," he said, sounding sheepish, scanning the horizon.

"What? Why not? What have you got going on that doesn't include the awesome me?" Prussia poked him in the arm. "What secret are you keeping?"

"Shh! Keep it down." Den looked furtively around the area, as if for eavesdroppers, but no one was near. His voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. "I just can't, all right? I have – have some – some – I have a friend coming over."

"What?" Prussia, getting into the spirit of the thing, was equally quiet. "What friend? Norway?"

"Shh! Not Norway." Denmark shook his head. He scanned the area one more time and then leaned forward to whisper into the albino's ear.

"You're _joking!_ Man! Can I come over? Can I? Can I, please?" Prussia's eyes were stretched wide and he was jumping up and down in his excitement.

"Shut _up!_ Listen, stupid, if anybody else gets word of this – "

"Aw, but I have to tell Romano and Arthur. They were already planning to do the Nürburgring."

Den shook his head, and then stopped and bit his lip. "All right. You can tell them – and _only_ them, do you understand? If America finds out – " He shook his axe threateningly at his boyfriend, who nodded in understanding.

"Got it," he hissed. "Won't tell America, won't tell anybody but Romano and Arthur. And I'll make sure they don't tell anyone." He snorted. "Arthur's going to totally crow about it, afterwards, you know."

"I know. But that's all right."

The albino stepped closer and put his mouth to Denmark's ear. "When and where?"

"My place, Saturday at eight," was the stealthy whispered response.

…

Prussia hadn't said a word. Not even to Arthur and Romano. Not until they arrived at his house early Saturday, pumped and ready for the Nürburgring. "Slight change in plans," he announced vaguely, once Romano had begun the long drive. "Head for, oh, why don't we go to Kiel for the day? Then we can head to Den's later on."

Of course his nonchalant attitude was a complete fail. Arthur stared at him and Romano pulled the car over to the side of the road. "What the fuck are you cooking up now?" the Italian wondered. "Where the hell is Den, anyway? I thought he was meeting us there?"

"Uh, well, yeah, well, he, uh – " Prussia stumbled to a halt. "Come here," he beckoned, reaching over the back seat to grab their arms and pull them closer.

"Ow. Git. Just tell us."

"I can't! I promised him if I told you I'd whisper it, so nobody else found out!"

Romano snorted. "There's nobody else in the car, you idiot."

"Tell us what?" Arthur poked him.

He flapped his hands to get them to come closer. "He's having some friends over. We're allowed to go, but we can't – tell – anyone. _Nobody._ All right?" Prussia sat back with a smug smile.

"We can't tell anybody anything anyway, you stupid idiot, because we don't know what's going on!" Romano tried to reach over the seat and punch him, but couldn't get the leverage he needed.

"Look, wanker, just tell us. Whisper if you have to, but stop all this cryptic spy rubbish."

"Yeah, because _you're_ the only one allowed to do any 'spy rubbish,' right, bastard? Dammit, you and that stupid James Bond – "

Prussia sat back in amazement as the two began to bicker about this. "Shut up!" he bellowed after a moment, and they did. "What is it with you two and this same damn argument? Shut up about it and bring your ears here, or I won't tell you."

"Fine. Don't tell us. Let's just go to the Nürburgring." Arthur exhaled sharply and sat back in the seat.

"You're going to love it," Prussia promised.

"Well? Here's my fucking ear, stupid. Tell me." Romano presented an ear.

Prussia leaned forward and whispered the news.

Romano began laughing so hard that Arthur looked worried. "You dumbass. You really think England and I are going to fall for that?" He kept laughing, holding his sides, while Arthur stared and Prussia pouted.

"It's true, I tell you."

"What?" Arthur finally asked. "What's true?"

"Bastard, he said the fucking Avengers are going drinking at Den's place."

Well, Arthur started laughing, too, and Prussia got very angry. "Shut up and drive to Kiel," he snapped. They didn't believe him? Fine. They'd find out, when they got there. "Just drive to Kiel," he snarled at Romano, who conquered his laughter and drove.

…

From Denmark's driveway they could already hear the party. "I still can't believe this," Romano grumbled. "Anyway, what the hell do I care about a stupid bunch of superheroes?" Even though he was, kind of, sort of, interested.

"You don't want to see Thor? Kesesese! I bet he's awesome. Almost as awesome as me."

"Pfft. He's a _god,_ you idiot. You've got a long way to go before you're in his league."

"Shut it, gits, and ring the doorbell." England struggled under the weight of a case of rum they'd picked up on the way.

When Prussia rang the doorbell all the noise inside instantly stopped, and then tentatively began again. A flushed and laughing Denmark opened the door wide. Wearing his Viking helmet and carrying a hammer that really did look like Thor's, he laughed some more. "Hey! Hi, guys! Come in, come in! We're down at the bar." He grabbed Prussia by the arm and dragged him inside; England dumped the case of rum by the front door. He and Romano slowly followed their drunken host.

"Is that really Thor's hammer?" England wondered.

"Is Den worthy? I thought Thor was the only one who could lift it," Romano hissed.

"How the bloody hell would I know?" They stumbled into the bar area behind Prussia and Den, and stopped in shock.

Standing around the bar was a now-silent group of superheroes, staring, equally shocked, back at them: Captain America, Black Widow, and a very happy Hulk, next to the laughing Denmark.

"Where's Thor?" Prussia wondered aloud, scanning the room, and then all the superheroes burst into laughter.

"Hey, Iggy! Great to see you," Captain America laughed, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"What? _What?_ " England took a much closer look at the assembled group. "Denmark, you bloody idiot! You're _all_ idiots!" he roared.

America, Belarus, and a green-painted Russia began laughing and drinking again. Denmark set the toy hammer on the bar and picked up his drink, downing it in one go, and smashed the glass on the floor. "Another!"


	149. Snoozefest

**Snoozefest.**

"Hey...Estonia…"

"Hi, Greece. How are you? Feeling all right?"

The Mediterranean nation yawned. "Not bad…I was just brushing…one of my cats…" He looked blearily around the house. "Well, she…was around here somewhere…Come in…"

With a sigh, Estonia came into the house. It appeared much more normal now than it had at Greece's Christmas party. Still, there were an overwhelming number of cats around…as always.

Greece had said he'd plan something interesting. Estonia had drunk a lot of coffee on the trip down, so that he'd be awake and energetic. He hoped his enthusiasm could keep the sleepy nation from dropping off. "What have you got planned?" he now asked eagerly, stepping around a pile of sleeping cats.

"I wanted to…take you sailing. The water is so…beautiful in June…Is that…all right with you?" Greece smiled at him absently.

"Sure! Love it! Too cold for sailing at my place most of the time. Do you want to go right now?" Boy, did Estonia feel pumped! He liked sailing and was now quite excited about doing the work on the boat.

"Sure, let's…go…as soon as I find my…shoes…" Greece finally unearthed them from under the kitchen table. "Come along, Estonia."

The Baltic nation eagerly followed. It seemed as though Greece was a little livelier now; he got in the car and drove to the marina, talking pleasantly, without those long snoozy pauses that Estonia was used to.

"I love the summertime," Estonia babbled, during a pause. "I feel so carefree!"

"Me too. But I feel carefree a lot of the time." Greece smiled at him. "And I love to go sailing, so I'm glad you asked me to come here, instead of going to your place."

"No problem at all!"

Greece parked the car. "It's over this way. It's just a tiny little boat, but it's beautiful."

Estonia scanned all the masts of the elegant boats that were waiting to be taken out. "Which one is it? What's its name?"

"Oh, I don't name my boats. I go through them too fast."

"But that's not right! Every boat has to have a name." Estonia's face fell. Seriously? A boat with no name?

"Well, for you, for today, we'll call it the…Cat Boat."

Ugh. Estonia wanted to facepalm, but held onto his temper. "Okay," he said, trying to be nice about it. "The Cat Boat." He could feel his eyes straining to roll back into his head! "Which one is it?"

"Here we go. Right here."

But they had reached the last set of slips and Estonia didn't see any boat. Unless – surely that beat-up old rowboat wasn't Greece's boat?

He felt his heart sink right into his sneakers. It _was_ Greece's boat. The Mediterranean nation was already inside the battered craft, getting the oars ready to go. "Seriously?" Estonia waffled, staring at the derelict boat. "It's not technically a _sailboat._ "

"So what? What's wrong? It's a great day for it. I'll row you out and show you some of my famous sights that can only be seen from the water. Step in!"

Estonia stepped in. The boat rocked a bit and he hurriedly sat down on the peeling wood seat. Greece cast off the mooring rope and began to row them out.

"It doesn't leak, does it?"

"Ha ha," Greece laughed calmly. "No. What kind of a date would I be if I took you out in a leaky boat? The Cat Boat does not leak."

"O-okay."

Greece rowed in silence for a little while. "Oh. There's a picnic basket under your seat," he told Estonia. "Pull it out! I brought all kinds of treats."

"I do love unusual treats." The blond pulled the basket out and opened it.

"Give me one of those bottles."

Estonia did so. "What is it?" Of course he couldn't read the Greek writing on the label.

"It's iced cappuccino. I drink it when I have to stay alert."

The Baltic nation was glad of that. If Greece fell asleep in the boat, they'd be marooned! Estonia was already slightly disoriented and couldn't tell which of the many small marinas they'd departed from.

"Have one if you like…" Greece busied himself uncapping the drink.

"No, thanks. I had a lot of espresso on the way here. What else is in the basket?"

"Lots of cookies." The brunet finally got the cap off his drink. "Baklava, stuff like that." He drank. "Ah, that's good."

"Nothing but sweets?" Estonia peered into the basket, as if he could magically make something savory appear.

"I…like sweets." Greece hurriedly drank again, polishing off the drink in about four deep swallows before returning to his rowing.

Estonia shrugged and took some baklava.

As he rowed, Greece told his date about the various sights they could see. "But there's so much more to my land," he concluded dreamily. "You should come back sometime…"

"Oh, I hope so." The sun was so warm. Estonia wanted to get more comfortable. He wasn't quite sure whether he could accomplish that in the tiny Cat Boat. "May I sit on the floor of the boat and lean back against the seat, or will that unbalance us?"

"No, that's…fine."

So Estonia shifted himself until he was comfortably seated on the bottom of the boat, the sun on his face and the light breeze in his hair. His glasses were photochromic; they'd darkened to sunglasses almost immediately upon leaving Greece's house.

"Put the…picnic basket on your lap, so…I can reach it." Greece struggled to grab another bottle of cappuccino.

"Okay." After Estonia had the basket on his lap, he gazed around the harbor and the sea, and began to ask his host questions about the various sites, their history and current status. Greece was a particularly beautiful country, he thought; it was quite easy to see why his date was so laid back and calm. Though he wasn't sure he could deal with all the cats, over and over.

Ah, but he was adaptable. He could get used to them. And really, even though the Cat Boat was so old, it was seaworthy, and fairly comfortable. The sun was nice, and Greece was smiling at him so sweetly. In the back of his mind Estonia remembered some warnings Lithuania had tried to tell him, about Greece being a sex maniac, but really, there was no evidence of that at all.

Briefly he wondered, if that were true, what a date between Greece and France would be like. Ha, the building would probably burn down! "Hah!"

"Hah what?" Greece, who had been in the middle of a tour guide's explanation of the nearest city, gave him a funny look.

"N-nothing. Carry on," he said, blushing, leaning his head back against the seat.

Greece continued to give him the eye, but then picked up the explanation again. As he spoke, Estonia drifted into a little dream world, where he and Greece stayed in the Cat Boat always, floating around the world and learning new things together…

"Why is it so cold?" he wondered, looking around. And it was _dark!_ "Greece? _Greece_!"

"I'm…right here, Estonia." There was a scrape and bump; the Cat Boat rocked a little.

"What's going on? Why is it so cold and dark? And the boat's rocking?" He sat up in a panic. "Are we in trouble?"

"No…but you…fell asleep in the boat. You've been…asleep for three hours…" Greece hopped adroitly out of the boat and tied it up in the slip. "Hand me the…picnic basket…"

Three _hours_? Damn, then his skin was probably horribly sunburned. Oh, and Greece probably wasn't too pleased with their date, either. He handed the basket to his host and scrambled ungracefully out of the Cat Boat and onto the dock. Greece was already several strides ahead of him, and he scurried to catch up.

"S-sorry about that." He tried to recover. "The afternoon was so relaxing! I really enjoyed it."

"Enjoyed…napping, while I told you all about…my beautiful islands? My throat is so sore…" Here, Greece stopped and set the basket down; he pulled out another iced cappuccino and opened it.

"M-may I have one?" Estonia wanted to show willing, and he also thought the caffeine might help him wake up.

"This is the last one…" Greece finished it and tossed the bottle into the recycling bin. "I'm…taking you back to the train station, Estonia. I…need a date who's livelier than me, to…keep me on my…toes." He opened the car door and Estonia slipped in.

But he _was_ energetic! He _was_ lively!

On the other hand, well, he wasn't going to try to keep dating Greece just for form's sake. He hadn't felt that spark of attraction. Maybe this was the best way to continue. "All right," he sighed. "I guess it just didn't work out."

"But you owe me…a tour of your capital, sometime…" Greece gave him a nice, lazy grin.

Estonia smiled. "I can do that. Thanks for the day."

"No problem. Take care of yourself." He pulled up outside the train station; they exchanged a brief, awkward hug, and Estonia got out.

"Bye!" he waved, as energetically as he could.

Greece nodded and drove away.


	150. A Clingy Date

**A Clingy Date.**

Estonia whistled gaily as he headed to the meeting on Monday morning. He'd been wary of asking any more nations for dates, and then one day the complete ridiculousness of his project hit him, and he realized it didn't matter at all. He could have a date! He could avoid dates! It was completely immaterial. His date with Greece had shown him that he could at least make new friends if the romance was unsuccessful. So he whisked into the conference room, humming as he poured himself some coffee, and sat, trying to find Hong Kong in the melee.

Ah, there he was. Near China.

He now wondered about the intricacies of Asian relationships. He knew a lot about inter-European relationships, of course, and with countries like China and Japan, who interacted with the West so much, he knew a little bit, too. But he'd never really thought about how the Asian nations interacted with each other. Well, maybe that would be something for him to learn. If he finished this journey through the alphabet of nations with no satisfaction, maybe he'd start that as a new project. Estonia lived for research.

He managed to catch Hong Kong's eye once or twice. That nation nodded at him with his lips pressed together, but there was such a distance between them that Estonia couldn't really hope to flirt. And if Latvia, who was the meeting host, caught him flirting, he knew the younger nation would burst into tears and derail the entire meeting. Estonia sighed.

At the lunch break he did manage to sneak up on Hong Kong when no one was looking. "Free for dinner tonight?" he asked, having decided to cut to the chase.

Hong Kong glanced around with wide eyes. "D-do you mean _me?"_ He blushed fiercely.

"Yes." Estonia smiled in what he hoped was an attractive way. "I'd like to get to know you better."

"Oh! Yes!" Hong Kong looked like a deer in headlights, but he clearly wanted to go.

"Meet me in the lobby after the meeting's over?"

"Yes, please." The Asian nation managed a very brief smile and blundered awkwardly back to his seat.

…

"D-do you know a good place?" Hong Kong still sounded nervous.

Estonia wondered why. If he was nervous, why agree to the date? And then, really, what was there about Estonia to make anyone nervous? Then he wondered whether China might have said something, but all they'd done together was eat at Chinese restaurants and get a little drunk. Pfft. Hardly anything to be nervous about. "Yes, there's a little place I always go to at Latvia's. I think you'll like it. It's quiet and we can talk."

"I'm glad you asked me. You're so popular; I would never have thought you'd want to ask _me_ for a date."

Estonia? _Popular?_ Before he could ask for clarification, Hong Kong continued. "I've seen you with a lot of nations, even quiet ones like Egypt, but I could never nerve myself up to ask you out."

"Here's the restaurant," Estonia countered, completely nonplussed.

When the waiter brought their drinks, they began to speak generally of each other's national holidays and festivals. Soon it would be time to celebrate Hong Kong's independence from England. "I don't like him," the brunet scowled. "I always used to consider that you were a lot like him, but I know by now that this is only superficial, the hair and eyes, the green uniform. He's so nasty and antisocial that he'd never get a lot of nations interested in him the way that they are with you."

Estonia was a bit taken aback by this. He counted England as a friend, and now began to wonder just how bad England's rule of Hong Kong had been. But he didn't defend his friend, not right now. He could set Hong Kong straight, later, if their relationship developed. If not, it didn't really matter.

He considered confessing his entire date scheme tonight. To explain just why he seemed to be so popular. After dating Norway he'd worried that he was getting a reputation, and Hong Kong's outlook just might have stemmed from something like that. But in the end he held off; other dates had seemed promising and had failed, and he'd hate for the brunet to blab to the world (after a failed date) that Estonia was working his way through a spreadsheet. So he changed the subject. "Do you like white roses?" He'd gotten his standard floral delivery this morning. Estonia was still quite interested in learning who the giver was. Based on Hong Kong's commentary so far, he might have been the one.

"Not much," his date said offhand, shattering that idea. "I like tropical flowers more. Why do you ask?"

"N-no reason." Damn, he still hadn't come up with a reason for that question! "I – I like them? Just wondered whether you did." Estonia hoped that would take care of the topic. "Do you grow tropical flowers at your home?"

Hong Kong launched into a panegyric of tropical flowers while the food came, and he continued singing their praises through the main course and up to dessert. Estonia listened, chin in hand, to the melodious voice, not really paying attention to the plethora of details regarding pollination, climate, and weather. "Mm," he murmured at intervals, nodding, wondering if Hong Kong had a good body under those robes.

Oh, that was distracting. But ever since his date with France he'd been hoping to try out some of those romantic tricks on a date. Maybe that would happen tonight. Since Latvia was the host, Estonia had no roommate…

Here he became aware that the waiter had brought the check and Hong Kong was staring at it, blushing. "Whoops! Sorry," Estonia said unrepentantly, paying it and rising. "Want to walk around the city? It's light enough yet that we could walk for quite a while."

"Of course! Please lead the way."

…

Estonia kept up a patter of conversation as they walked, discussing the city of Riga, the history of the Baltic States, and so on, but his mind was roving. It was unusual to feel himself in control on a date. He let his hand brush Hong Kong's sleeve a few times, but those sleeves were almost as long as China's; holding his date's hand would be difficult.

Or so he thought, until Hong Kong stopped walking, pushed his sleeve up, and shyly took Estonia's hand. "That's what you wanted, isn't it?" He beamed happily at his blond date. "Me too."

So they walked around a little more, but the warmth of Hong Kong's hand – not to mention his boldness in that action – had sent Estonia's thoughts down the physical path again. "It's getting late. Do you want to go back to the hotel?"

Hong Kong stopped walking again and turned to face Estonia, dropping his hand and resting his palms on the Baltic nation's chest. "Yes, please," he said, very quietly, with no real expression at all. "I have no roommate."

Whoa! Estonia blinked but returned a smile. "Neither do I!" The two of them jumped into a taxi, the quicker to get back to the hotel.

…

In the morning Estonia awoke in his room alone, but there was an origami lotus on the other pillow, made from a page of the room service menu. He smiled at it, picked it up and stroked its paper petals a few times. Wow. Hong Kong might just be the one. Sexy, romantic, and intelligent? Estonia couldn't believe his good luck.

As he showered, though, he realized it wasn't really luck. It was all due to his hard work and determination with the spreadsheet. He dried off and dressed, updating it, and went downstairs for breakfast and the meeting.

Hong Kong had switched seats and was right next to his chair. Estonia smiled and sat, taking his hand under the table and squeezing it.

"I don't like to flirt at meetings," the Asian whispered, "though today I really feel like flirting!"

"That's fine. It's nice to have you sitting next to me."

Latvia called the meeting to order; they paid attention.

…

When they came back from a polite and interesting lunch date, Hong Kong excused himself to the men's room, but Estonia went back to sit at his chair. There was a giant vase of big white roses at Estonia's seat! This was odd. Maybe the mystery giver had panicked, seeing him having fun with Hong Kong?

But when he pulled out the card and read it, his face fell, just a little. _Hong Kong_ had sent these roses. Well, he supposed his conversation had led his new boyfriend to think that way. He wondered what to do with them. What if the mystery nation thought he was being sarcastic, taunting him or her?

Nobody was watching. He pocketed the card and hurriedly put the vase on the floor at his feet.

Hong Kong came back in. "Wasn't there anything on the table?"

"Y-yes. Thank you for the roses. But – "

"Didn't you like them?" his date asked him earnestly. "I thought you liked white roses!"

"Hush!" Estonia flapped his hand to get Hong Kong to calm down. "They're fine," he whispered. "I just – I don't want other nations getting embarrassed, when they see me getting roses? Making them jealous?" Would that explanation suffice?

"Oh! Oh, yes, I understand completely. From now on I'll have them sent to your room."

"Really, there is no need. I liked your origami lotus better than the roses." He smiled. He had! Hong Kong had taken the time to – well, to deface a hotel menu, it's true, but to construct a handcrafted tropical flower for him. "I've put it in my suitcase to take home."

They began to giggle together a little, before Latvia's shrill voice began tearfully begging everyone to settle down.

…

After that evening's dinner, Hong Kong pleaded a headache. Wanting to show his support, Estonia took him back to his room and brewed him some tea, sitting on the bed and stroking his forehead, telling him little nursery tales from his country. Hong Kong smiled weakly, hugging his hand, and sipped the tea as best he could. "You're so good to me, even when I let you down," he whispered.

"Don't worry about that. You just get better, all right? Then we can spend more time together. Would you like me to go?"

"I'd like to sleep. I don't want to chase you away, but…"

"I understand." Estonia bent down and kissed Hong Kong's forehead gently, feeling the warm hands on his cheeks. "Rest up. I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night, Estonia."

He switched off the lights and went back to his room. Well, a little down time wouldn't go amiss. He brewed himself some tea too, imagining himself in harmony with his new lover, and sat with his laptop to browse important sites.

When he glanced up the vase of roses from Hong Kong caught his eye, and he pulled the card out of his pocket. He could tell this was not the same handwriting as the usual donor's. Both were printed in block capitals, but Hong Kong's writing was much more confident than the other nation's. He pulled out the card from that first vase and compared them.

Well, of course Hong Kong would print in block capitals. The Asian nations didn't use the Western alphabet, and they probably learned it from textbooks. Though having been under England's control for so long, he had probably developed this bolder way of writing.

Estonia shrugged and put both cards into his suitcase, returning to work on the laptop.

It was probably an hour later that the implications hit him. _Whoever usually sent him roses did not use the Western alphabet, either._ Wow. It was like a clue! Estonia immediately stopped reading about Hong Kong Disneyland and thought about this.

He could rule out an entire _bunch_ of nations, this way! Hurriedly he pulled up the spreadsheet.

Estonia tried to be logical about this, but his heart was actually pounding. He knew he could rule out all the nations who were currently in relationships (unless one of them was a real two-timing bastard), and all the nations he'd already dated. So who was left?

India  
Japan  
Macau  
Russia (he shuddered)  
South Korea  
Taiwan  
Thailand  
Turkey - ?  
Ukraine  
Vietnam - ?

He couldn't really be certain about Turkey and Vietnam. His online research with translators seemed to show they used a mostly-Western alphabet with some strange diacritic marks. He'd have to be observant.

But now he could work on eliminating some of them by psychology. Every card he'd received had talked about the sender being too shy to speak up. That definitely eliminated Russia, who would just reach out and grab Estonia by the throat if he wanted him. He could probably cross off South Korea and Turkey, too. Estonia couldn't make a psychology judgment call on any of the other nations, but suspected (although she was shy) that it was not Ukraine, either. They knew each other fairly well, and she'd never shown any kind of interest in him beyond simple politeness.

So, of the remaining nations – India, Japan, Macau, Taiwan, and Thailand – could he narrow it down?

Estonia stayed up until three in the morning, tea getting cold, frenetically researching all these countries. In the end he only gave up because his head was beginning to spin. As he collapsed in the bed, his last thought was of the mystery rose-giver.

…

In the morning this obsession woke him early and gave him extra energy. He showered, dressed, and practically ran down to the meeting, coming to a complete embarrassed halt when he saw the beaming Hong Kong sitting next to his chair. Whoops. He'd forgotten all about him! Face burning, he went to get coffee first, to buy some time, and then sat, feeling a little more in control and forcing a smile. "Are you feeling better?"

Hong Kong smiled back and squeezed his hand under the table. "Oh, yes. Dinner tonight? And will you let me take you to a movie or a show?"

Estonia needed to get his head back in the game. He pinched his thigh to force himself to focus. "Yes, please. That would be lovely."

Of course he spent the rest of the day staring at India, Japan, Macau, Taiwan and Thailand, none of whom seemed very interested in him at all.

…

"What a lovely night!" Hong Kong took his hands and they spun around a little in the market square, laughing. Yes, Estonia was silly to worry about the mystery rose person. He had a perfectly good date right here with him now. Laughing some more, he wrapped his arms around the Asian nation and held him close. "I'm happy to be with you," he whispered, and felt Hong Kong kiss his ear.

"Let's go back to the hotel." The breath was warm on his ear, promising some more of those exotic Eastern tricks that they'd shared on Monday night; Estonia felt as if he were melting. He nodded and the two of them ran back as fast as they could.

…

He awoke in Hong Kong's bed in the dead of night from a nightmare of white roses, and slipped back to his room. Maybe all this interest in finding that person meant that he wasn't really happy with Hong Kong. Estonia couldn't sleep, so he lay awake on the bed and tried to sort all this out.

Was there any real reason to be _unhappy_ with his new date?

No. Not yet. Not unless he counted how far apart their homes were, how annoying it would be to travel back and forth to Hong Kong on a regular basis.

But then, all of those possible rose-givers were far from him as well. So he shouldn't ditch Hong Kong just on that basis.

"No!" he yelled. Why was he considering ditching Hong Kong? They kept having fun together; the sex was great, the dates were great, Hong Kong was intelligent and fun. There was no reason at all to break up with him. None.

Frustrated, he gnashed his teeth and rolled over again, hoping to snatch at least a few hours of sleep.

…

The next morning was Thursday and Estonia felt as if someone had stuffed his head with hot, oily cotton. Just before he left the room, a bellboy brought him a vase of lotus flowers; he grimaced, but thanked the man, and put the vase on the dresser. The card was blunt: lots of red X's and O's. He supposed this was another habit Hong Kong had picked up from England.

With a frustrated sigh he headed downstairs.

Hong Kong wasn't there yet. He got coffee and sat, resting his head in his arms on the table. "You okay, bastard?" Romano asked, passing by.

"Huh. Yeah. Just tired."

"Kesesese! We know how that can be!"

Ugh. It was much too early for Prussia's exuberance. Estonia kept his head down and prayed they'd go away.

Some time later he felt a touch on his thigh and shocked himself awake; the meeting had started, and Hong Kong was cuddled up to him, drawing little smiley faces on his note pad. One smiley face had glasses, the other dark hair; they were together inside a big heart. Latvia was droning on about something. Estonia smiled very weakly at Hong Kong, who ripped the page out of his note pad with a loud tearing sound, catching everyone's attention.

Estonia wanted to sink into the floor. He was exhausted, and frustrated about these damn roses, and Hong Kong was trying to flirt with him and making him feel embarrassed. He flashed a quick, halfhearted smile before putting his head back down on the table and falling asleep again.

…

"Dinner?"

"Oh, Hong Kong, I am so tired. Can we just stay in my room tonight? That way if I fall asleep it won't be a lot of trouble."

"But you slept all through the meeting!"

"Yes, but I'm still very tired. I haven't been sleeping well lately." Hah. "If you don't want to come to my room, that's understandable. I don't mind."

"I'll tell you what. I'll go get us some takeout and bring it to your room. Then we don't have to get room service." They headed to the Baltic nation's room.

"Thanks. That's very nice of you."

"Maybe I'll bring you a little treat, too! Give me your key card. Then when I get back, if you're sleeping, I won't have to wake you."

Estonia nodded and handed over his card after unlocking the door. "See you in a little bit."

"Rest up!"

…

Someone knocked on the door, awakening the blond. Damn. Why wasn't Hong Kong using the key card? He swam up out of a fug of sleep and stumbled to the door, yanking it open with a scowl.

A bellboy stood there with a cart containing a heart-shaped box of chocolates and some champagne in an ice bucket. "What the hell's this?" Estonia asked, grumpy. This looked like something France would have ordered. Couldn't the damn bellboy get the right room?

"The gentleman in room 414 ordered it for you."

Four-fourteen? That was Hong Kong's room. What was he thinking? Maybe he hoped Estonia would be more awake later, wanting treats? The bellboy pushed the cart past and set the items on the small table. He left without waiting for a tip.

Huh. Well, there was ice in the bucket. It'd keep. He went back to the bed and fell asleep.

…

Someone knocked on the door. Damn! Maybe he _would_ break up with Hong Kong! Didn't he understand that Estonia just wanted to sleep?

When he yanked it open a floral delivery girl stood there with a big vase of bright red roses. "For you, sir."

"Thanks," he muttered, yawning, and took the vase. She left with a wave.

Huh. Also from Hong Kong. He pitched the card in the vague direction of his briefcase and was about to fall back onto the bed when he had an idea. "PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB!" he wrote on a paper. "LEAVE ALL DELIVERIES OUTSIDE THE ROOM." He stuck it to the door with some blue-tack he kept for emergencies. Of course he'd had the hotel's "Do not Disturb" sign on the doorknob all night, but obviously these Latvians couldn't take a hint. Then he jumped onto the bed.

And found that he now could not sleep. "Argh!" Now he was awake and hungry; it had been three hours since the meeting had ended, and Hong Kong wasn't back with the food yet! Oh, Estonia was getting angry. He rang Hong Kong's room, but there was no answer.

Estonia paced around his room and picked up the card from the red roses. Just a big heart with the same sketch of Hong Kong and Estonia on it. Hah.

An hour later he was blazing mad and decided to go down and eat in the hotel restaurant. He barged down the stairs, passing Switzerland on the way with a halfhearted smile.

The restaurant was full, though not many of his fellow nations were there. He sat in a corner and ate almost violently, slopping food on the table and gulping down beer. (Tea would have been more prudent, but he was angry and thought the beer would help him calm down.) In the corner he could see America and Japan cozying up to each other; hah, well, that was on again, was it? He'd mark Japan off the list – _again_ – when he got back to his room.

Eventually Estonia was full, though still angry. He ran back up to his room and then remembered that Hong Kong had the damn key card! So he ran down to 414, but nobody answered. "Damn, damn, damn!"

"What's the matter?" Switzerland was on the move again, Nerf gun holstered at his hip.

"Hong Kong has my key card, and I don't know where he is."

The Alpine nation gave him a very funny look. "Why does he have your key card?"

"Because I was going to sleep and I didn't want him to disturb me when he came back to my room!" Estonia snapped, secure that a Nerf gun couldn't hurt him.

"You're an idiot. Did you think maybe he's in your room right now?" Switzerland laughed a little and ran down the stairs.

Oh. Right. More sedately Estonia went back to his room and knocked.

A tearful Hong Kong opened it. "Oh! Estonia! Where did you go?" He began crying.

Estonia was taken aback. "Y-you didn't come back, and I was really hungry! I went down to the hotel restaurant." He now noticed the smell of _putra_ in the room and felt like he was going to be sick. Hong Kong was still crying, and Estonia was crabby, confused, and fed up. He stomped over to his bed and flopped onto it. "Well? Are you coming over? Where did you go?"

Hong Kong weakly shuffled over and sat on the edge of the bed. "I went out shopping for goodies to make you feel better! I sent you the red roses, and the champagne and chocolate, and – and here, I brought you a nice lavender pillow to sleep with; it is supposed to be soothing." He pointed to it on the bed and tried to dry his eyes. "I'm sorry! I thought you'd be asleep a little longer. That's why I left the food until last."

"Well, I _would have been_ ," he snarled, "except that bellboys and florist people kept waking me up with deliveries!"

"O-oh. I'm sorry. I hadn't considered that." Hong Kong looked at him soulfully. "Are you all right now? Rested, full?"

"Yes, I'm fine." Still very grumpy, though. That must be obvious even to Hong Kong.

The Asian nation leaned over and hugged him. "I really am sorry."

"That's all right," he managed. "But I'm not really in a very social mood anymore. How about if we spend tonight apart; I'll get a good night's sleep, and we can start off better tomorrow?" He took Hong Kong's hand to reassure him.

"All right. If that is what you prefer. I'm happy to accommodate you." The brunet stood up.

"Take the food and champagne with you. Save them for tomorrow, or eat them, whatever. I'll pay you back for them. Okay?" Estonia gathered them up and handed them to Hong Kong, who nodded and moved to the door.

"Good night," he whispered to Estonia, who leaned forward for a kiss.

"Good night, Hong Kong."

…

In the morning all Estonia wanted was for this horrible tense week to go away. He wanted to go home and sleep for a week and then wake up and figure out what to do with his life.

"Will you come see me this weekend?" Hong Kong whispered to him, rubbing his back.

Dear Lord. The idea of traveling all that way, after this hideous week, was infuriating. "Not this weekend. I have a lot of nation work I need to get back to," he lied. "Maybe next weekend."

"I could come stay at your place? I wouldn't be much trouble. Then when you wanted a break from your work I'd be right there for you! I'd love to see your home."

Estonia smiled weakly. "I'd love to show it to you. But I'm afraid I wouldn't be very good company. Let's just put it off until later. We can email or have a video chat during the week, if you like."

Hong Kong's eyes lit up. "Yes, please." He patted Estonia one more time before the meeting began.

Estonia took some deep breaths. Relationships were really hard work!


	151. Their First Weekend

**Their First Weekend.**

Estonia was only in a _moderately_ annoyed mood this Friday.

It was true that he hadn't had much nation work this week, but had lied about that to Hong Kong to get some time alone to think. Over the past week he'd been bombarded with emails, some cute, some intellectual, and some downright naughty…they'd been fun, but he must have received two hundred emails from his new boyfriend! He'd tried to give a hint by only replying to every twentieth email or so, but Hong Kong just kept pelting him with them.

He'd also received a delivery of lotus flowers each evening. _And_ a box of chocolates on Wednesday, and some text messages here and there. Why, oh why, was Hong Kong being so attentive to him? Maybe the Asian was simply mocking him? It would be an awfully expensive process, for a prank like that.

And so, to stop all this romantic effluence, he'd agreed to go to Hong Kong's place this weekend for a visit. It wasn't really fair to ask the Asian nation to hop all the way back to Europe after that week-long meeting in Latvia. He really had wanted to go for the independence-from-England celebrations, but that wasn't for a few more weeks. A few more weeks of this bombardment and he'd completely lose it. So Estonia was on the plane, fighting to relax, and losing the battle.

But he was definitely going to make it clear to Hong Kong that all this gift-giving and attention had to stop.

…

"Yes, you look great, Hong Kong."

…

"Yes, let's tour your downtown area."

…

"I'm quite happy to be with you!"

…

"Of course we can have a romantic dinner."

…

"Yes, Hong Kong," sigh, "I do enjoy the lotus flowers you send! But you should save your money." The two of them wandered hand-in-hand around the bustling Central district after the romantic dinner.

"But I want you to think of me when I'm not there."

"I do! Believe me, I could stand a little neglect, at this point," Estonia almost snapped.

But Hong Kong's face fell. "Wh-what? You want me to neglect you?"

"Oh, I – I didn't mean it that way." Though he had. Estonia was beginning to feel suffocated by all this attention. "I'm just not used to all this. That's all." He squeezed Hong Kong's hand firmly. "I think it's the newness of it all. Once we settle into our relationship and don't feel we need to shower each other with reminders, it should be fine."

"B-but I'm always like this," Hong Kong said. "Ask Korea. When we were dating I gave him stuff all the time. It's just the way I am!"

"You dated Korea? Was he shy?" Estonia blurted out, thinking of his list of possible rose-givers.

"What? Yeah, I dated Korea. I've dated all the Asian nations, except China. And I went out with Australia a couple of times, but that didn't work out so well. What does that have to do with anything? You're no virgin, I know." Hong Kong now seemed irritable. "I mean, just this year alone you've gone out with half the nations in the world, it seems."

"It does seem that way, doesn't it," Estonia mused, still thinking of his mystery list.

"Is this some kind of – of _test_ for you?" Hong Kong then asked him suspiciously. "See if you can get every nation to go out with you before the year is up?"

"Hmm? Oh, no." Estonia finally snapped back to reality and knew he'd need to do a little damage control. "I'm sorry. No, I'm very happy to have found someone compatible! You're fun, and sexy, and intelligent." He leaned over and hugged the Asian. "I'm quite content to be with you."

And he was. Or at least he would be, without all the gifts and smotherings of attention.

Hong Kong relaxed in his arms. "You're all those things, too," he whispered. "I'm glad I said yes, when you asked me." They kissed, standing on the sidewalk. "Come on. Let's go back to my place."

"Yes! Let's go back to your place."

…

The rest of Saturday passed in a pleasant haze; since Estonia was right there with him, Hong Kong didn't need to be quite so dramatic with the attention. They played checkers together, laughing; sampled a bit of the local cuisine. Later, Hong Kong prepared a bath scented with jasmine, with flower petals floating on the water, and they bathed each other by candlelight. "You've got some marvelous ideas," Estonia told him, holding the slippery body in his arms.

"I've been doing research, trying to come up with new ideas to impress you." Hong Kong tweaked his ear with a wet hand.

"You don't need to impress me! I already told you that. I'm impressed with you just the way you are."

"Listen, Estonia. All this – this _is_ 'just the way I am.' I love to shower my partners with affection. If you really care for me, you'd deal with it."

"But you don't need to do it all. That's what I'm saying."

Hong Kong drew back and scowled. "So…you…aren't prepared to accept me as I am?"

This was a ridiculous discussion to have while they were naked in the tub. "Let's get out and dry off, if we're going to keep talking about this."

"What's there to talk about?" But Hong Kong stood up and reached for the towels. "Either you accept me or you don't."

"I accept you!" Estonia practically yelled, yanking the towel out of his hands and flinging it around himself.

"Obviously you don't." Hong Kong's voice was dry. "Make up your mind."

Estonia fumbled for his glasses. Ah, that was better. Funny how he always felt more in control when he was wearing them. "You can't be serious."

"I am serious! Get out of my bathroom and go make up your mind."

"I don't need to leave the bathroom to make up my mind! If you can't dial back the attention, then I think we should break up." _What?_ Had he actually said that? After all these months of searching, after all the new fun he and Hong Kong had had –

But it _was_ true. If this was really how Hong Kong liked to be – _all the time_ – Estonia would be in a mental asylum by the end of the year.

Here he noticed a trail of wet footprints leading out of the bathroom. Hah. Well, he scrambled into his clothing, which stuck to him a little from the moisture, and hurried out of the bathroom, following the trail.

The host was in his bedroom, now wrapped in an elegant embroidered silk robe, facing away from the door with his head in his hands. Estonia padded carefully over to the bed, reaching out to his shoulder. "Hong Kong?"

The Asian nation spun and flung his arms around Estonia's middle, pushing his tearstained face into the Baltic nation's shirt. "Oh, Estonia! Don't break up with me, don't, don't, please don't! I love you!"

Estonia's hand froze in the act of stroking the dark hair. _Love_? "Uh. I – oh, Hong Kong," he groaned, sinking down onto the mattress, hugging him to buy some time. "I – " But he fell silent again. How could he coherently respond to that? Love? After ten days?

Well. It was entirely possible that people fell in love in ten days. But Estonia didn't truly think he was the type of nation to inspire that level of passion, of intensity, in anyone. And yet clearly Hong Kong felt something strong between them. He hugged the brunet close, mostly to allow himself to calm down from this. What could he do?

"Oh, oh," Hong Kong wailed, and Estonia could feel the tears soaking his clothing. Or was that bath water? He couldn't tell, and at this point he didn't care. He didn't want to hurt his date's feelings, but he desperately wished that he were at home, alone, where he could calm down and think.

"Hey," he said gently, trying to turn the Asian's face to his. Hong Kong looked up, his lip wobbling, and Estonia couldn't help himself; he bent down for a kiss. Hong Kong's lips eagerly fastened onto his own, coating them with the tears on his face, and Estonia felt like total shit!

But why? He was being perfectly reasonable. Still. He continued kissing for a moment, before it became evident that his date was trying to push forward into lovemaking. "No," Estonia said, gently pushing him away. "I'm – I'm not ready. I'm too emotionally torn up."

"D-don't you love me?"

Estonia took a deep breath. He was going to be honest. "I don't know yet. I'm trying to be open to it, but I couldn't say 'I love you' and be certain I meant it." That was true. "I think we need to slow down a little."

But Hong Kong had drawn back coldly. "If you can't say it now, then you probably will never be able to say it." He dashed the tears from his face with the back of his hand. "I think you should go. It's probably better than trying to force this."

Estonia's head was awhirl, but he seized on the excuse. "You're right, of course. I'll just get my things?" When Hong Kong made no move to rise, Estonia slipped out of the bedroom into the adjoining spare room, where he'd deposited his suitcase, and threw all his belongings into it.

When it was full he latched it shut and went back to the bedroom, but his host was nowhere in sight. Descending to the kitchen, he peered all around and didn't see him. "Hong Kong?" he called out, receiving no reply.

Estonia decided to leave a note. Perhaps the Asian was too distraught to see him out. He wrote a quick note in his careful cursive script, hoping Hong Kong would stay well. Then he phoned a taxi service and made his escape.


	152. A Very Disconcerting Date!

**A Very Disconcerting Date!**

For these two days, a short European meeting was taking place. Estonia had completely detoxed from his Hong Kong debacle. Hong Kong had sent him a few presents, but hadn't emailed or phoned. Estonia had been able to ignore all that and was planning to rest up and not ask anyone for a date, for a little while. Hungary was next on the list, and he kept smiling at her during the meeting, but he was not yet ready to ask her out.

Though she was so cute. He lost track of the meeting while trying to decide whether Hungary or Belgium was cuter. Or maybe Liechtenstein.

In any case, lunchtime rolled around before he could reach a definitive conclusion. He stood to leave the room and found Hungary beside him, beaming. "Hey, Estonia! You're mighty flirty today. Want to go have dinner with me tonight?"

Well! He certainly wasn't going to say no. She'd saved him the bother of asking. "Sure," he smiled, with a shrug. "Love to."

She squealed – she actually _squealed,_ which terrified him – and clasped her hands together. "Oh, good. I've got so many things I need to talk to you about! I'll see you after the meeting!" She ran out of the room, leaving him standing at the table, perplexed, but calming down.

He went to his room over the lunch break, instead of heading to the hotel restaurant. He'd gone a little overboard on breakfast pastries here in Denmark and didn't really feel the need for a big lunch. He'd do a little spreadsheet work. The Baltic nation stopped short in the hotel room when he saw the customary vase of white roses. He was so stunned that he simply plopped down on the bed, staring at them.

This threw all his analysis into doubt. All those nations he'd had on the short list: India, Japan, Macau, Taiwan and Thailand! None of them were at this meeting; this was a meeting of European nations only. So…damn.

He sat back on the bed with his laptop, his mind awhirl. He read over his notes. What were the key points he'd considered?

 _Someone who doesn't use the Western alphabet.  
Someone shy.  
Someone he hadn't gone out with yet._

"Well," he said to himself, before feeling silly. He cleared his throat. It could still be one of those five nations. They could be very, very attentive to his schedule. But then that bordered on the creepy. Almost like a stalker.

It could be someone who did use the Western alphabet, who was printing those rudimentary block capitals to throw him off the scent. Possible.

He really didn't think a bold person would be masquerading as a shy one. What would the mystery nation gain? If a bold nation wanted him, a bold nation would speak up. Like Hungary had.

He daydreamed a little. Estonia would feel so proud with such a beauty on his arm. A beauty that even the elegant Austria couldn't hold onto! Hah.

But back to the spreadsheet. What if it was someone he'd already dated? Could that possibly be true?

Maybe it was Cyprus. He'd turned Estonia down to go out with Canada; maybe that had fallen through. He wondered how it was going. Of course Canada was not at this meeting. He didn't remember seeing Cyprus here, either, but then, he hadn't been looking.

But Cyprus used the Greek alphabet. So that was possible. Hmm.

Damn! It was time to get back to the meeting. He pocketed the card from the roses and hurried back to the smallish conference room.

…

During the afternoon session Hungary seemed to be bubbling over with secret glee. Estonia felt nervous. What if she was expecting him to be some kind of Casanova? He wasn't like that! Or maybe she thought he'd be like Austria, elegant and suave. Of course he always _tried_ to be polite and elegant, but sometimes that just didn't work out. He'd bet even Austria had bad days.

By now Estonia simply hoped she wouldn't bring the frying pan to dinner.

Denmark ended the afternoon meeting and his friends hurried to join him at the head of the room. Estonia, more leisurely, packed up his gear and walked over to Hungary. "Shall we meet in the lobby in half an hour?"

"Ooh, yes. That will give me plenty of time to get my things." She smiled, tossing her hair over her shoulder, and they left the room together.

…

Hungary skipped down the stairs into the lobby, where Estonia was already waiting. "Do you know a good, quiet restaurant?" she asked breathlessly, grinning and taking his arm.

"Oh, yes. I'm quite familiar with Copenhagen." They walked out of the hotel. Estonia tried not to concentrate too much on Hungary's overeager nature, and to just go with the flow.

"I thought you might be," she said. "I know he's with Prussia now, but have you ever dated Denmark?"

"Oh, no. He was always with Norway, before he was with Prussia. Besides, the Nordic nations are always a little bit, ah, derisive of me."

"Yes, I'd heard you wanted to be a Nordic nation, but can't manage to do so."

He smiled at her. "It's not so bad this way."

They reached the tiny, secluded restaurant and got seated. A little glass vase with a single daisy sat on the table, and Estonia, who'd been very much more in a flower mentality recently, smiled at it. He wondered what kind of things Hungary wanted to ask him about.

As soon as the waiter left with their orders, she asked, "You're not dating Hong Kong anymore? You two looked so cute together at that meeting."

Estonia blushed and ground his teeth together before recovering his composure. "No. We – didn't see eye-to-eye on a lot of things." Hah, that was an understatement. He was glad Hong Kong wasn't attending this week's meeting. Wasn't ready to see him again yet. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason," she said airily, flapping a hand and gazing around the restaurant. "Just wondering."

"Why did you ask me to dinner? Just because I was flirting with you?" He smiled at her – yes, flirting – and she beamed.

"It seems like you've had a really busy social life this year. I was just wondering which nations you'd enjoyed spending time with, the most."

"Really? Well, I'd like it to be you," he blushed, taking her hand.

"Oh." She seemed a little taken aback. "But please answer my question?" That was a strange response. He'd expected _some_ flirting. Before he could answer, she burst out with "France? Did you go out with France?"

Oh, he knew she disliked France. She was always trying to hit that nation with the frying pan, which he now realized wasn't with them tonight. Good. "Yes, I did." He reddened as he remembered their one night together, hot and delicious. He wondered whether he'd get to use some of those tactics with Hungary.

But she was scowling. "France is a pig. Stay away from him. Him, and that idiot Romania. And you might as well avoid Bulgaria, too; he's too friendly with Romania to be worthwhile."

Estonia sank into a sad little reverie, thinking of Bulgaria, but Hungary kept speaking feverishly. "You should go out with _China!_ China is beautiful. I bet you and China – " She interrupted herself with a fierce blush.

"I did go out with China a few times." Estonia was completely confused by this conversation, but he felt himself too gentlemanly to change the topic. "But all he wanted to do was eat at Chinese restaurants."

"Oh, that's no good. How about Norway? Ooh, yes, Norway," she repeated, with a tiny little smile. "I bet you and Norway would be really hot together."

Eh? "I…went out with Norway," he admitted. He certainly wouldn't tell her what Norway had wanted to do on their date!

"How was it? Was he really sexy? I bet he was. He seems so quiet but I just bet he's an inferno in bed. I can just picture the two of you, together by firelight…" She gazed into the distance, a dreamy smile on her face, fidgeting in the chair a little. "Japan and I were just talking about that the other day. He was very excited when I called him today to tell him we were having dinner together. I have to call him later and report back."

Estonia was losing patience, and also feeling kind of bizarre about all this. "Hungary, what the hell are you _talking about_? What does Japan have to do with our date? Why are you asking me about all my other dates?"

"I love to see nations dating." She was still vague, still staring across the restaurant. Estonia even turned to look, but there was nothing there worth looking at. "Do you have any pictures? Of you with Norway? Or, well, even with France, I guess." She wrinkled her nose, looking back at him.

"Pictures? No. I have a picture of me with Hong Kong somewhere, but I don't know what I did with it."

"Estonia, you really have to step up to the plate! If you're going to date all these boys, I need to know about it!"

"Eh?" This time he spoke out loud. "I still don't understand what you're driving at."

"Estonia," she hissed, shaking him by the arm. "I want to see pictures of you with your boyfriends! Cute, cuddly pictures, or even sexy pictures. Come on! Don't deny Japan and me this simple pleasure."

"What does Japan have to do with anything?" he asked again. He was well and truly baffled.

Hungary huffed. "Oh, never mind. Let's just eat." She spent the next ten minutes attacking her food; Estonia spent the next ten minutes thinking about the idea of sexy pictures of himself with his dates. What did she plan to do with the pictures? Blackmail? He groaned, but she didn't seem to hear him. The way his social life had been going, he'd just bet that's what she was angling for.

He'd lost his appetite. Estonia motioned the waiter over and paid the bill while Hungary was still eating. This was maybe the weirdest date he'd been on, during his quest.

When she'd finished, she smiled at him and they rose to leave. "Now, listen," she repeated. "I want some pictures! I bought you a camera so you can email me the pictures right away when you have them." She handed him a small digital camera. "Or – or videos," she said in a trembling voice. "If – if you could make videos – " Her breath caught and she stopped speaking for a moment. Estonia watched in disbelief as she clasped her hands in front of her again. "Japan would just _die_ ," she laughed in a faraway voice.

Argh. He still had no idea what was going on here. His best bet was to get back to the hotel, be alone, and try to put this entire date right out of his head. Maybe some research would help.

He made one more effort. "Hungary. Why do you want pictures of me?"

"Not just you," she scoffed. "You with your boyfriends. And, really, I don't just want pictures of _you_ and your boyfriends. Any nations with boyfriends. Any male nations with boyfriends." She patted him on the arm with a gleeful grin.

 _Oh!_ She was one of those? "Y-you mean like – like – " But he couldn't say it.

"Boys' love," she said happily, now apparently lost in a dream world. "Japan calls it 'yaoi.' He likes it too. We have a little club, just him and me, where we talk about it and share pictures. Sometimes we let Liechtenstein join us, but she's been dating Iceland, so that's kind of boring and not compliant with our club's aims."

Estonia's skin was crawling. Yes, he'd happily dated male nations, and he suspected he'd do so again, but this was creepy! "Let's get back to the hotel," he snapped, dragging her along. He'd have to make sure she – and Japan – weren't lurking, when he went on future dates.

In the lobby she pecked a kiss on his cheek. "Thanks for dinner! Don't forget to use that camera!" She floated dreamily up the stairs, one hand trailing on the brass banister, as Estonia stood riveted to the floor with the camera dangling from his hand.

…

In his room, a vase of lotus flowers, with a loving card from Hong Kong, begging him to come back. Estonia crumpled the card and pitched it into the trash can.

He missed the next day's meeting, being severely hung over, because he'd drunk himself silly trying to forget that date.


	153. A Mischievous Date

**A Mischievous Date.**

Estonia had started receiving paper letters this week. All from Hong Kong, beautifully written in a calligraphic style, on handmade paper, loving poetic letters tainted with a guilt trip. He didn't know what to do, so he did nothing, placing them neatly into a drawer of his filing cabinet. One more had arrived this morning, with a pressed lotus flower between the pages. He sighed. Maybe he should get back together with the Asian?

But today he was heading to India's place. He put all the thoughts of Hong Kong out of his head, for now, and left for the airport. He could worry about that later.

…

"Estonia! Come in." India held the door of his home open wide, and the enchanted Baltic nation entered. The home was strikingly decorated with color and pattern everywhere, almost overwhelming in its intensity. "Nice to see you."

"Hi," Estonia finally managed, shaking his date's hand. Well, not truly a date. He'd asked India if he could come over and spend some time getting to know him and his country. Estonia was mostly unfamiliar with India (both his host and the country) and felt it would be more fun just to spend time together and learn about the place, rather than trying to make it a date.

He had also (shyly, and feeling like a dork) put a white rose in his buttonhole. After all, India was one of the nations on the short list. But his host barely glanced at it, so it was unlikely that he was the one.

"What would you like to do today?" India asked.

"I really don't have any idea! Why don't you take me around and show me what you think is the best representation of your country?"

"Sure. A tour? Yes, and we can have some of my delicious food while we're out there. It's so delicious that even England has begun to acknowledge it." India snorted.

Estonia then remembered that those two had once been involved, no matter how briefly. He wondered how that had affected both of them. At least India didn't sound as vitriolic about it as Hong Kong had.

Soon his host had togged up and they were ready to go.

They spent a lot of time wandering around Mumbai, with India doing excellent tour guide work. Estonia was pleased, and spent a lot of time craning his head around to see the unusual sights. Eventually India suggested they stop for lunch.

"Yes, please. I hadn't realized how hungry I was getting."

When they sat, Estonia put his small backpack on the table. It fell over sideways and a camera slid out. India picked it up and glanced at his guest, who felt himself blushing furiously. "Why didn't you tell me you had a camera? We could have been taking pictures all morning!"

But the waiter came to take their orders, so Estonia had a few minutes to gather his thoughts. "Ahem." The Baltic nation took his glasses off and polished them, because he was too embarrassed to meet India's eyes. "Th-the camera is a gift from Hungary. Sh-she has it automatically set to upload all the pictures in it to the cloud."

"Hungary? I didn't realize the two of you were close." India set the camera back down.

"No, we're not." Estonia put his glasses back on. "Truth to tell, I'm very embarrassed about it. Sh-she, and Japan, they – they want me to take pictures of myself with my dates."

"Am I a date?" India wondered. "I had no idea."

"No, no; I just had the camera in there and forgot," Estonia lied. "I'll put it away." He did so.

The food arrived; they began to eat. But India now had a very sneaky look on his face. "Do you mean they wanted to see, ah, romantic pictures, as it were?"

"Yes!" he laughed. "I don't understand it, but that's what they want."

"Oh, I understand it. I'm having a nasty little idea. Maybe you'd be interested in playing along?"

"Tell me," Estonia begged eagerly. What could this idea be?

"We're right near a film studio. Why don't we go there and spend the day posing for them in costumes of my country? There are so many costumes at those places that we'd never duplicate anything."

"That could be fun, but how is it nasty? Just because they wouldn't be seeing what they want to see?"

India smirked. "If we're uploading photographs of us in different costumes, they're going to eventually be aware that we were changing clothes in the dressing room together. But they won't get to see any of that!" He started cackling, sounding alarmingly like Prussia. But then, those two were good friends.

Estonia's eyes gleamed behind his glasses. "That's brilliant. And we could do some fake teaser photos, too, like halfway out of a shirt, or whatever."

"Let's do this! Hurry up and eat!"

…

At the Bollywood film studio Estonia rubbernecked once more. He had no experience with big studios at all. India introduced him to the staff, explaining what they wanted, and the two of them headed towards the costume storage rooms.

"Here we go!" India threw open a large set of double doors and flicked on the light switch. Acres of brightly-colored costumes stretched in both directions.

"Wow."

"As you say. 'Wow.'" India cackled again. "Come on. Pick out an outfit."

"Well, but you'll have to help me," Estonia pointed out. "I don't know what kinds of things are meant to go together, or whatever."

"Ah. Yes. Well, set the backpack down. We can just get changed in here; this dressing room is not being used today."

Estonia set the backpack down and headed for a bright red garment that had caught his eye. "What about this?"

India laughed. "Sure, yes. Hold on." He pulled out all the costume pieces and explained how they were to be worn. After he'd gotten Estonia settled, he ran down to one end of the room and grabbed some gear, returning to change near his friend. "I love this outfit."

"Should we take a picture to start with? In our regular clothing?"

"Good idea. Let me see if I can borrow a tripod from somewhere. Do you know how to use the timer on the camera?"

"I'll work it out while you find a tripod." Estonia smiled. This was going to be fun, even if they didn't upload the photos. The costumes were all so beautiful! Silks, gold and silver threads, remarkably bright colors and vivid patterns…India certainly loved his colors.

When the host nation came back with the tripod Estonia had the timer all figured out. They set up the camera and posed for an introductory shot, as it were, with their arms around each other, flashing the Victory sign at the viewer, laughing.

"Good," India said after the shot was done. "That will whet their appetites."

Quickly the two nations changed into costumes and posed for a picture facing each other and bowing. "I can only imagine what Hungary is going to think when she sees these," Estonia laughed. "I feel like an idiot in this gear, with my blond hair and glasses."

"But you're adventurous enough to try it," India pointed out. "That's always fun. Maybe sometime I can come to your place and visit your cinemas?"

Estonia explained about his country's lack of high-end cinematic production. "We're slowly but surely beginning again, but we have had a dearth of real movies in the last few decades."

"That's a real shame! Films are a wonderful thing. My people are addicted to them."

"I can see why!" Estonia slipped out of his outfit and into the next one, hanging up the previous one and putting it back on the rack properly. "If my country can start making money with films again, we'll gear up, but for now, we're taking baby steps."

"A wise idea." India didn't speak as he struggled into his next outfit. They posed, hugging and laughing, and changed again.

…

The two nations spent about three hours playing around in the dressing room, still amused about Hungary and Japan and the photographs. "I'm beat," India finally said, collapsing onto a little stool. "Let's be done, get some dinner. I really need a cup of tea."

"That sounds good." Estonia had been riding a high all day, but with his host's words he suddenly realized how tired he actually was. He undressed one last time, putting his uniform back on, and took the camera off the tripod.

"Let me know how that all goes, yes?"

"Oh, yes. But is it possible Hungary may telephone _you_ about it? Or Japan might?"

"It's possible," India considered. "She's very touchy about my friendship with Prussia, so she might call me up just because she has an excuse to rant."

"Will that be all right? I don't want you to be troubled." He fiddled with his glasses.

But India burst into laughter. "Don't worry about it! I can deal with her."

"All right. I'm ready to go."

"Great. Let's get our dinner."

…

On the flight home, Estonia was in a very upbeat mood. He'd made a new friend, and played a little prank on Japan and Hungary! A very successful day indeed.

On the other hand…Japan was next on the spreadsheet. This filled him with a lot of nervousness. Prior to his date with Hungary, he'd considered Japan the frontrunner on the list of rose donors, because he was so quiet. But now, Estonia feared that Japan's hidden _yaoi_ desires might make a very uncomfortable date! Well, a world meeting approached. He'd talk to Japan there. Maybe the Asian nation would be so pissed off about the costume photos that he wouldn't even want to go out with Estonia.

And he still had to figure out what to do about Hong Kong.

He sighed again. But it had been a very fun day.


	154. Pushy Nations

**Pushy Nations.**

Another world meeting, another boring week, this time in Italy. Estonia smiled as he headed into the conference room. He wondered what Hungary and Japan would say to him, wondered what Hong Kong would do today. But he was in a good mood, so he didn't really care. He could deal with Hong Kong.

None of those nations was in the room yet, but India was; he waved and smiled. Estonia got breakfast and sat next to his new friend. "Well? Did they say anything to you?" India demanded.

"Not a word. I bet they won't say anything. They won't want to appear silly in front of all the other nations." Estonia calmly sipped his coffee. It had been fun, putting one over on those two _yaoi_ lovers.

The conference room door slammed open so hard it hit the wall and bounced back. Hungary's palm stopped it from slamming into her face and she stalked right up to the edge of the table, furious. Neither India nor Estonia could hold back laughter. Luckily they were separated from her by the width of the table.

"I can't believe you, Estonia!" she yelled, trying to reach him with her frying pan. "Didn't you understand what I wanted? You completely messed it up!"

He scooted back in his chair, well out of reach. "India and I took pictures, Hungary. Isn't that what you wanted us to do?" His tone was cheeky; he felt bolder knowing that India was sitting with him and enjoying her discomfiture too.

"Grr. I'll get back at you somehow."

Japan then entered the room and stepped up behind Hungary silently. When she tried to swing the frying pan once more, he gently removed it from her on the backswing and set it on the table. "Uh? Huh? Oh! Oh, Japan, let me at him." She lunged for the pan but Japan blocked her.

"Hungary-san. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar."

"What? What does that mean? Some kind of stupid English saying?" She stretched around him to get the pan; most of the nations in the room sat laughing at the show. Hong Kong scurried in, holding a box of chocolates. This barely registered with the Baltic nation, focused as he was on Hungary.

"Do not antagonize Estonia-san. It is perhaps only that he misunderstood your request." Japan turned to examine Estonia with his flat expression.

The blond's laughter faltered as he met those inscrutable dark eyes. He shivered a little. Japan was next on his list! "Do you want to go out with me, Japan?" he blurted out, with a chuckle. "We can take all the pictures you want!" He and India both rocked with laughter.

"Estonia-san." That was all the Asian nation said to him. "No."

And right then Estonia knew he would never be able to date Japan. If he didn't freak out from the _yaoi_ business, he'd be damned uncomfortable seeing that calculating gaze on him all the time! No, he couldn't do it. He mentally scratched the Asian completely off the list and turned back to Hungary a bit nervously.

But she had calmed down. "Do you need further instruction?" she asked Estonia sweetly, as if he were mentally defective.

"Do you want to demonstrate?" he retorted, trying to use the same tone of voice.

"Oh! You're completely impossible!"

"I know," Estonia laughed, trying to sound bold. "You may keep your camera." He pushed it across the table to her and raised an eyebrow. Would she take it and go?

Hugging the Baltic nation, India chimed in, "Sorry you had to miss all the fun," and the two of them giggled again at the anger that crossed her face. Hungary grabbed the camera and stormed to the other end of the table, Japan following.

"Whew," Estonia whispered, still laughing a little. "Didn't expect her to be so violent."

"Whatever. Want to go to dinner tonight?"

He grinned. "Sure. Lots of good pasta places around."

"Did someone say 'pasta,' ve?"

"Shut up, _fratello_. Let's get the fucking meeting started, dammit." Romano bopped his little brother on the head with a rolled-up newspaper and tried to call the meeting to order.

…

When Estonia got back to his room after dinner, Latvia gestured to a vase of white roses. "You got them again," he giggled.

The older nation was almost nervous as he reached for the card. What if Japan _had_ been the sender? What if this card was a reproach, and the Asian did want to date him? Oh, dear. This couldn't be good.

But it was a nice card. Same handwriting, message a little different. GOOD WORK! SHE IS VERY ANNOYING. And a tiny little smiley face.

Wow. He doubted it was Japan now, for a couple of reasons: one, he wouldn't call his friend Hungary annoying, and two, he really didn't think Japan would draw little smiley faces unless he was seriously trying to throw off suspicion. Plus Japan had flat-out refused him this morning. Good. Estonia could move on.

He sat on the bed with his laptop and eliminated Japan from the list of possible dates and the list of possible rose givers. After that, he mentally compared that latter list to the nations he could remember being in the room when Hungary had entered.

No, he couldn't remember. "Hey, were you in the room this morning when Hungary blew up?"

Latvia turned from his comic book. "Blew up? No, I didn't see that. Why? Are the roses from her?" He snickered a little, possibly imagining Estonia on the run from the frying pan.

"No." That much, he knew. "Never mind, then." Had Cyprus been there? He still couldn't guess whether it might be Cyprus. "Was Canada there today?" he asked Latvia. "In the meeting?"

"Of course. He was with Cyprus. Those two are together all the time, now."

Huh. Probably not Cyprus, then.

Someone knocked on the door; the two Baltic nations looked at each other in confusion. "You're expecting someone? I hope it's not Russia!" Latvia leaped up and hid in the bathroom.

Estonia, rolling his eyes, answered the door.

Immediately he wished he hadn't. Hong Kong stood there, tears in his eyes, with an origami lotus flower in one hand and the box of chocolates in the other. "Oh, Estonia," he said sadly.

Shit.

"Come in," he offered. Maybe Latvia's presence would be effective as a – uh – romantic deterrent?

Hong Kong came in, dumping the chocolates on the desk, and embraced Estonia. Latvia peeked out of the bathroom and yelped, and the Asian jumped back. "Wh-who's here?" he blurted out, red-faced.

"It's just Latvia! He's my roommate." Damn. Did Hong Kong really think he'd moved on to sleeping with some other nation?

But he might have done, if Hungary hadn't been such a weirdo about her photographs. She was pretty sexy. Too bad she was psycho. Almost as bad as Belarus, in a totally different way, of course.

"I can't talk in front of Latvia! Come downstairs to the bar with me." Hong Kong tugged at his sleeve.

"What's there to talk about?" This was really irritating. Estonia had completely moved on from the clingy Hong Kong and didn't need, or want, to revisit their relationship.

"I want you back! Here." He extended the origami flower. "I wrote you a love poem and made it into a flower."

Ill-concealed giggles came from the bathroom. "Shut up, Latvia," Estonia groaned. To Hong Kong he said, "I don't want a love poem," and pushed the flower back at him.

"I can't believe you! I – I – " The brunet burst into tears; the blond dithered. Should he hug him? Would that make things worse?

And as he stood there waffling, Hong Kong threw himself into Estonia's arms. "Oh, oh," he wailed, "oh…" He turned his tearful face to his ex-boyfriend's. "I can't stand it, I – I think about you all the time, and – and – " He gave up speaking and hugged tighter.

Estonia still stood like a statue, arms at his sides, wondering just what the hell to do about this. "Hong Kong, I'm with someone else," he finally lied. "Got that? This kind of thing is just the reason I broke up with you!"

"Y-you're dating someone else?" Hong Kong let go and stood back, almost instantly in control of himself again. "India?"

"Not India, no. Just – just go, and let's forget this ever happened." Though he'd bet Latvia would tease him about it for a long time. The younger nation still lurked in the bathroom, and still giggled periodically.

"Hungary?"

"Not Hungary! Will you please just go? My – my love life is none of your business." He blushed and adjusted his glasses. "Please?"

"Very well," Hong Kong told him in a calm and manly voice. "I'll go. This was your last chance, Estonia. Don't come crawling back to me." He swept haughtily out of the room, taking his lotus flower and chocolates with him.

Estonia sank onto the bed, removing his glasses, bracing himself for Latvia's teasing, but the younger nation simply exited the bathroom and headed back to his own bed without speaking. Though he did have a tiny little smirk on his face.

'Don't come crawling back to me.' Hah. Estonia was simply glad he could now be shot of the clingy nation.

Oh. Right! He'd been analyzing the rose donor list again. Maybe tomorrow he'd wear a rose in his buttonhole. If that nation was here, then…it might spark something.


	155. Observations

**Observations.**

In the morning Estonia felt stupid about the idea of wearing a rose in his buttonhole. He knew, he _knew_ everyone would ask him about it. Nobody did that kind of thing anymore, except France. They'd probably wonder if it was in honor of some national celebration. The point being that if the giver was that shy, listening to all the other nations questioning Estonia would probably drive him (or her) away.

But he did put one of the roses in his briefcase, in case he changed his mind later.

Prussia and Denmark had collared India today, so Estonia moved to sit near Greece, who was already asleep. Veneziano asked Germany to start the meeting for him, and despite Romano's scowls, the blond did so.

Estonia spent the morning in quiet contemplation. He observed each nation in turn, sometimes staring for several minutes while his brain clicked through analysis and calculation. Near the front of the room, his friend England nodded at him before turning to attend to something Romano whispered. France – well, he didn't look at France for very long. He couldn't watch him without thinking about their night of lovemaking, which was excessively distracting. Belgium gave him a little smile; Canada a sweeter one. Cyprus, next to Canada, fidgeted and blushed. Could it be? Would Estonia want it to be? He couldn't decide. Didn't know Cyprus well enough to make that decision. But if it was, he'd give it a try.

Further down the table, Norway nodded, not smiling; Bulgaria didn't look up from his note pad. That was sad. He still felt very bad about that date, and wished he could at least clear the air between them. Egypt offered him a little finger-wave, without smiling, and South Korea grinned like a maniac when he met Estonia's eyes.

That was an interesting thought. He could stretch a point and ask him out next (as 'Korea') instead of waiting until he got to the 'S' nations. He grinned back but continued his observations.

Hong Kong caught his eye and very dramatically turned away with a huge sigh and flounce, shifting his chair closer to China's. Hah. What a drama queen. Estonia would never have guessed it! China didn't even react except to reach out and pat Hong Kong's hand.

Belarus was too busy cozying up to Russia to pay attention to him. Russia! Uh. Had Estonia put him on the spreadsheet? Because he refused to try and date that nation. Refused. He'd check the spreadsheet later and make sure Russia was either not on it, or was crossed out.

Ah, why not; he'd update it now. He hefted his briefcase onto the table and opened it. Was anyone looking? Did they see that rose?

Nope. Nobody was paying a single bit of attention to him. He sighed, pulled out the laptop, and checked his spreadsheet. Hah. His subconscious did good work; Russia wasn't even on the sheet. He closed the briefcase and set it aside, but kept the laptop on the table. At least it would be something to play with, while he ignored Germany for a change.

…

At lunchtime Estonia decided to eat alone in the hotel restaurant. He needed some time to think. The Baltic nation got a corner table and sat, ordering a pasta meal.

Various other nations trundled in, sat, ordered. Everyone left Estonia alone, and he was happy for it. He had so much to consider.

The meal came and he ate it. It was very tasty.

Just as he took the check, all the lights went out. A power outage? And the restaurant was in the building's core – no windows. The sound level escalated as nations and patrons began to panic. Estonia stopped trying to sign the receipt in the dark and sat back. He could stay calm. No doubt the hotel had generators. His hand groped for his water glass and he drank.

And yes, within two minutes the power was back on. Germany, appearing hassled, was frantically trying to console a hysterical Veneziano, while Prussia had apparently slipped behind the bar to pilfer a few beers in the confusion. Estonia watched him laugh his way back to his lunch table, offering England, Denmark and Romano drinks from the tray.

The Baltic nation finished signing his check and stood to leave, and then froze: a white rose lay on the table, next to the water glass. Was that _his_ rose? No, he'd left it in the briefcase, which was still in the meeting room. And it definitely hadn't been there when he'd sat down to lunch.

S-s-so the mystery nation had come to his table in the dark? Estonia panicked, madly scanning the room for a clue.

Nobody watched him, and all of the nations he could see in the restaurant were already in relationships! Damn. But then, if _he_ had tried a stunt like this, he would have flung the rose down and escaped from the restaurant before the lights came on. And the mystery nation was very shy, that he knew already.

Feeling excited, he put the new rose into his buttonhole. If anyone asked, he'd simply say he'd taken it from the restaurant table – which was true – and he could watch to see who might be paying attention. Maybe he wouldn't even need to ask Korea for a date!

As Estonia wandered back to the meeting room with his head in the clouds, a cold thought caught at his heart. What if all this buildup of expectations led to some date failure? After all, he wasn't exactly successful at dating. Pfft.

He squared his shoulders. He'd do his best. He'd be patient and careful, a gentleman, and see if he could _make_ it work.

As long as it wasn't Hong Kong.

…

Half the nations had failed to come back to the meeting. "Ve, I heard them say they were scared of more power outages, so they were going to go outside," Veneziano sighed, gazing out the window longingly.

"Lucky bastards," his brother grumbled.

But Germany was, as always, more attentive to the business of the meeting than anything else. "We no longer have a quorum," he realized. "If we don't get five more nations in here in the next half hour we'll call off today's session."

"Ve! Yahoo! Oh, Germany, let's just call it off now, please, please? Please, Germany?"

Romano continued to mutter under his breath. "Fucking idiot."

Germany smoothed a hand over his severe hairstyle. "Yes, Italy, we will call off the meeting for today. Do you understand?" he appealed to the room. "We will need to work overtime tomorrow to make up for this loss! Be prepared to work hard!"

But almost everyone had fled at his first "Yes." Estonia packed up his things.

"Kesesese! Let's go do something fun. Romano, what can we do that's fun?"

"Cheh. Bouncy houses?"

"Bouncy houses for everyone!" Prussia leaped up and began to cheer; unfortunately only a handful of nations remained to hear this.

"Wh-what are bouncy houses?" Estonia asked shyly.

"An inflatables park," Denmark explained. "Moon bounces. All kinds of them!"

"May I join you?"

"Sure, you can all awesomely join us!" Prussia's wide arm sweep included Ukraine and America, the only others who were still in the room.

"Cool, bro! Let me stash this junk and I'll meet you in the lobby." America ran out of the room.

"You guys coming?" the albino asked.

"N-not me," Ukraine said with a nervous voice. Estonia glanced at her briefly. Possibly bouncing didn't appeal to her. Hah.

"Okay, well, Estonia, if you're coming, meet us in the lobby. Awesome!"

Everyone exited the conference room. Estonia went back to his room and put away his items, including the rose, which would simply get damaged at an inflatables park.

In twenty minutes everyone had assembled in the lobby, along with Bulgaria and Romania. "You don't mind if we join you?" the fanged nation asked.

"The more the merrier, man," America told him with a little smile; Prussia gave the thumbs-up. Everyone filed outside and headed to the bouncy houses.

…

"H-have you seen Romania?" a nervous Bulgaria asked him later. "I haven't seen him for at least an hour!"

"No." Estonia took a deep breath. Now he had a chance to set things straight. "Bulgaria, are we – are we all right? You're not still, ah, upset about – "

"I – uh – it's all right. Don't worry about it. Okay? We're f-fine. Just – just help me find Romania!"

They walked off together, Estonia taking care not to bump or brush against the other nation. "Why is it so important to find him?"

"Ah, I, I'm worried about him. He's a very good friend of mine, and I worry!" Bulgaria seemed very agitated.

"I'm sure he can take care of himself." Estonia did think he was being a bit overprotective.

"Ah ha ha ha!" they heard from behind a bouncy house, competing with the sound of the motor that kept the thing inflated. America's voice.

"Maybe he's seen him?" Estonia wondered. Together they skirted the inflatable, shocked at what they saw.

America and Romania sat cuddled close, feeding each other cookies, whispering, giggling. "Romania!" Bulgaria yelled.

"Oh, hey guys!" America held out the bag of cookies. "Want some?"

Estonia rolled his eyes and left.

…

"Do you all come to – uh – 'bouncy house' places often?" Estonia asked Denmark, as they all relaxed with cool drinks later. "I've never heard of them."

"Yeah, well, it's sort of a fallback thing for us. We had our first date at a bouncy house place in Germany."

"You and Prussia?" An unusual first date, but maybe he'd keep it in mind. Korea might like to do it.

"Hah! No. Prussia and Romano and me."

"A _date_?"

Denmark laughed loudly and poked him. "Just a joke."

"Oh. Okay."

"Kesesese!"

…

At the end of the day all the nations limped out to the nearest taxi station. Estonia's feet hurt, and he wished he'd been smart enough to change out of his uniform and into casual clothes before they'd left the hotel. He felt certain he was developing bruises where the belt buckle and heavy brass buttons had dug into his flesh on impact.

He and America shared a cab back to the hotel. "Man, that Romania's sweet," America sighed. "Did you ever go out with him?"

"Nope."

"I wonder if he's unattached? Bulgaria seemed really upset to find us with the cookies. But we were just having a little fun."

"Eh."

"You're pretty experienced with dating," America mused. "Tell me the best way to ask him for a date."

"What?" This shocked Estonia into sitting upright. But, he supposed the hero was right. He _did_ have a lot of experience with dating, by now. "I might not be the best person to give advice," he laughed.

"Just give me some ideas. I'll figure it out."

"Well, then just ask him out! Pick something you want to know about him, and ask him."

"Ask him what? What should I ask?" the hero panicked.

"How would I know? I don't know him well. Bulgaria would know."

"Ah, man, Bulgaria's a real vicious bastard. I don't like to talk to him."

Estonia blinked. That was a rather odd assessment of the dark-haired nation. Even before their bad date, Bulgaria had never come across as a vicious bastard. But then, if he was being overprotective of Romania, of course America would find that distressing.

The cab pulled up outside the hotel; America paid the driver and the two nations limped wearily inside.

"Just ask him," Estonia repeated weakly before heading for the elevator. "The worst that can happen is that he says no."

America nodded. "I can do that. Thanks, man." He headed to the hotel bar.

"Good luck!"

…

After a long, hot shower, Estonia examined his body, and did see several small bruises forming. Eh. By morning he should be all right. He slipped into the bed, not even bothering with dinner.

…

"Screw it," he said aloud, startling Latvia the next morning.

"Screw what?" The younger nation giggled.

"Nothing." Estonia took a rose and put it in his buttonhole before going to breakfast in the hotel restaurant.

He sat at the same corner table as before. Surprisingly, all the vases in the room had white roses in them. Was this some kind of prank?

Nations entered and found tables. America came over. "Hey, man, can I join you? Nice rose!" America pulled one from the table's vase and stuck it in the top buttonhole of his shirt. "Nice touch, man. I want to talk to you about Romania again."

Estonia sighed. "Go ahead."

For the next half hour he tried his best to help the heroic nation figure out the best way to approach Romania, but by the time his food was gone, Estonia just wanted to get away from him. Listening to America sing his own praises wasn't on his top ten list. "Right, well, I'll see you," he said, rising and making his escape.

…

What?

The entire conference room was filled with vases of white roses. "What?" Estonia said aloud.

"Ve! Don't they look pretty, Estonia? I saw you were wearing one in your buttonhole yesterday, and it reminded me of how much I love white roses. I haven't thought about them in years." Veneziano beamed at the Baltic nation. "So I ordered a bunch for all the hotel's common areas, ve. Nice?"

"Nice," Estonia sighed. Turning to Korea at the buffet, he asked resignedly, "Want to have dinner with me tonight?" He didn't even care what the answer would be.

"Whoa! Yeah! I'd love to, da ze!"

Estonia sighed again, nodding, and sat down for the meeting.


	156. An Ill-Advised Date

**An Ill-Advised Date.**

"I don't really know if I should have said yes, da ze," Korea laughed, as they headed to a restaurant.

"What? Why not?"

"You have a reputation! Hong Kong's been talking about you a lot."

Uh-oh. "Wh-what did he say?" Estonia groaned inwardly. He could just imagine.

"Well, for a while, it was all about how wonderful you are, intelligent and sexy."

Hah.

"But then, he started talking about you being a mean bastard with a cold heart, da ze!"

"Well, of course he'd say that. I broke up with him."

"Why?"

"Too clingy."

"Ha ha! You won't get that with me! Where are you taking me?"

Good. He did hope Korea was not clingy. Another nation like Hong Kong would be a pain in the neck! Estonia named the restaurant.

"You know, big brother China actually stole the idea of pasta from me."

Estonia wasn't sure about that, but he took the tactful approach. "I had heard that pasta originated in the East, but not specifically where."

"Are we going anywhere after dinner, da ze?"

"We could go to the bouncy house place?" Though Estonia wasn't sure he could find his way back there, but a cab driver ought to know.

"What's that?"

He explained.

"Sure! It sounds like fun." Korea waved his arms in the air excitedly, his sleeves and hair curl flopping as he danced. "I'm so excited about this date! Nobody ever wants to date me."

"Why not?" This could be bad.

"I'm too awesome, I guess."

"You should go out with Prussia," Estonia replied automatically; whenever the word 'awesome' cropped up, that's who he thought of.

Korea stopped in his tracks. "Estonia, why? You don't want to go out with me?"

Damn. "That wasn't what I meant. Sorry." He tried to reach for Korea's hand. "I just meant because Prussia's awesome too."

"But he's dating that blond guy. I can't even remember his name, da ze." Korea put a finger to his chin, thinking. "The one with the axe? You know I invented the axe, don't you?"

"You – uh – that nation is Denmark." Estonia couldn't figure out what else to say to that bizarre statement. He really didn't know Denmark's name? Korea was either very ignorant or very self-centered. Estonia quickly decided it must be ignorance.

They reached the restaurant and entered. "Ah, I love the scent of Italian food," the Baltic nation sighed.

"It's not bad! Not bad at all." Korea sniffed too. "It's not as good as kimchi, of course, but it's pretty good."

"What is kimchi?" Estonia genuinely didn't know.

As they perused the menus his date explained how Koreans fermented vegetables with spices to make the national dish. He peppered his explanation with a lot of "da ze" comments, and was clearly bursting with national pride, but the explanation was fun to listen to, and Estonia grinned as his date concluded the lecture.

"It sounds delicious. I'd like to try it sometime."

"You should! You should come see me after this week of meetings is over and we can try all the most delicious dishes that originated in my country, that never made it as exports."

"I'm game." They ordered their meals.

"So, Hong Kong tells me you're pretty hot in the sack, da ze."

Estonia felt a blush rising. They talked about this kind of thing? "Uh, er, well, I don't – I don't know – " He had no idea how to respond to that!

Korea laughed. "That's all right. We can have sex later and I can find out for myself."

Several restaurant patrons turned to gape at them after this conversational comment had been offered; Estonia flung down his napkin. "Er – excuse me, I need the men's room."

He made his escape. Wow. He hadn't expected this kind of social gracelessness from Korea. In fact, he cast his mind over all the nations he could think of, and couldn't come up with any nation he'd expect to behave that way! Maybe some of the micronations, he considered; he knew Latvia was pretty socially inept, and figured Sealand and the others might be, too, but they wouldn't be talking about sex anyway. For a nation as old as Korea to be calmly chatting about that – _in the middle of a restaurant?_ Estonia washed his flaming face with cold, cold water, and headed back to the table, jittering.

"Everything okay, da ze?"

"Y-yes, fine."

"So Hong Kong tells me you like lotus flowers. I don't have any for you."

"I don't particularly like them. That was his idea."

"Oh, good. Flowers are too girly, da ze." Korea drank some sparkling water.

Estonia turned the conversation to national festivals. Maybe this would keep his date from blurting out any more awkward comments.

For a while they chatted of this and that, Korea maintaining his excitable nature, and Estonia just barely beginning to worry about this possible relationship.

But the meal concluded with no further social faux pas on the Asian's part, and they headed out to the inflatables park.

Korea grabbed him by the arm. "Hey, Estonia. Give me a kiss."

"What? Well, all right." He moved closer and felt Korea's arms tighten around his waist as they kissed before getting into the taxi.

"Whoa, you're good. Want to skip this date and head back to bed, da ze?"

Argh! "Uh, well, not really."

"Nuts! I've been thinking about banging you ever since you asked me out. I mean, Hong Kong was _really_ hot and bothered about you. He showed me some of the things you did together."

The Baltic nation stood like a deer in headlights while his date continued, "You know that sex was invented in my country?"

"Aah!" Estonia leaped into the cab and escaped back to the hotel.


	157. Mixed Nuts

**Mixed Nuts.**

Arthur entered the Parisian hotel bar in a rather foul mood. His business trip had been unfruitful, and tonight he wanted nothing more than to relax in peace with a drink, to unwind, forget about the unwilling clients and clear his head before traveling home to London tomorrow. He sat at the bar and ordered ale, idly munching on some mixed nuts from the bowl in front of him.

The blond caught a glimpse of himself in the bar mirror. Bollocks, he looked bad; his hair was a mess and he had visible dark circles under his bright green eyes. This irritated him so much that he angrily loosened his tie and then chugged his ale. He was on the verge of ordering another when a stranger entered and sat on the barstool next to him.

The barman tended to the new arrival first. Arthur heard the man order a Bloody Mary. Hm. He hadn't had one of those in a long time, and it sounded very tasty. When the barman turned to him he said, "I'll have the same," and the barman then moved off to mix the drinks.

Arthur took a moment to look at the new arrival in the mirror. When their eyes inadvertently met, he blushed and looked aside. Blast. Why was he always so shy about these things? It wasn't as if he planned to – planned to –

"They make good Bloody Marys here," the stranger offered, his accented voice deep and haunting.

Arthur turned back to make sure the man was speaking to him. He didn't want to look like a git if the stranger was speaking to someone else, but he had apparently been addressing Arthur; there was no one else within earshot. "Good to know," he countered noncommittally. He sneaked a peek in the mirror again. The man was dark-haired, dressed in a dark suit, and staring down at his hands. As Arthur turned to regard those slender hands, the stranger raised his head and their eyes met. This time he didn't turn away; he saw the other man's face redden and his eyelids drop. The blond peered into the mirror, but the barman came back with their drinks, distracting him.

Arthur had really been much too lonely lately.

He tried to think of something smooth to say, but all he could think of was, "You're right. This is a bloody good drink." Bugger, he sounded like a complete imbecile. He blushed and drank, vowing to keep his mouth shut now.

"You must have liked it," the man offered with a short laugh. "You drank it in record time."

"I – had a bad week."

"Let – let me buy you another?"

Even without looking, Arthur could almost guarantee the man was red-faced. He knew he was too. "Thanks," he blurted out. The barman came and took the new order.

Neither spoke again until the drinks arrived. "I don't ordinarily drink alone," the brunet offered. "But I've had a pretty bad week, too."

Well. Since he was sociable enough to keep talking, the least Arthur could do was respond graciously. "Wh-what kind of work do you do?" he asked.

"I – I – I own a, a, tomato soup processing plant."

Arthur almost laughed out loud at that. "No wonder you like Bloody Marys."

"Cheh. I do love tomatoes. What kind of bad week did you have? What kind of work do you do?"

He met the striking amber eyes in the mirror. "I run a…chain of scone bakeries."

The man almost spit out his drink. "I'm sorry!" Arthur then exclaimed. "Are you all right?"

"Yes…yes, I'll be fine." He cleared his throat a few times. "Sorry. I just – uh – well, it doesn't matter. What could be so bad about owning a chain of – of bakeries?" He set his drink down and pushed it away, as if he was afraid to risk drinking it.

Arthur knocked back the rest of his own drink again, reminded of his irritation with work. "Nobody's interested in our products."

"So you've been, what? Peddling scones all week?" The man coughed into his hand; he wouldn't meet Arthur's eyes.

"Trying to. It's very discouraging. Are you going to finish that drink?"

"Of course I am, ba—of course I am. Why? Oh. I see you're ready for another. Business so bad that you're planning on getting bombed tonight?"

"I was thinking about it," he admitted. Arthur motioned to the barman, who was busy with another patron but nodded to show he'd seen. "Next drink's on me," he offered.

"Thanks. I wasn't thinking of getting drunk, though, so the next one will have to be my last."

"Do you live around here? Or are you just traveling on business?" It was getting easier for Arthur to speak to him. He wasn't sure whether to attribute that to the three drinks he'd had in quick succession, or the man's laid-back manner.

"Traveling. My – my name's Vargas," he offered, extending a hand to Arthur, reddening.

"Vargas! I know a guy named Vargas," Arthur laughed, shaking his hand. "A bossy wanker."

Vargas snorted and shifted to look at Arthur in the mirror, rather than face-to-face. "You going to introduce yourself?"

Whoops. "Ah – I – I'm sorry. That was ungentlemanly of me. My name is Arthur Kirkland." He extended his hand to shake, before remembering they'd just done that. Blast, he was acting like a git again. He was about to jerk his hand back when he felt the man – Vargas – clasping his hand. Ah, his hand was so warm. Arthur involuntarily squeezed it and felt an answering squeeze. "Do you have a first name?" he asked cheekily, letting go.

Vargas scowled at him. "Yes, dammit." But he did not offer a name. Oh, well. Perhaps he wasn't really looking for company tonight, after all.

"Sorry. Just – just trying to make conversation."

The brunet rubbed a hand over his blushing face. "Yeah."

Arthur felt as though a door had just slammed in his face. He faced the mirror, but Vargas had his head tilted down to the near-empty glass in front of him. Maybe he shouldn't drink any more, either. Maybe he'd just go back to his hotel room. At least then he'd stop making an arse out of himself. He picked up his empty glass before remembering he'd finished the drink. Bloody hell. He ate a few more nuts absently, wondering what to drink next.

No, he decided, he did need to leave. He pulled out his wallet to leave a tip for the barman, who still hadn't come back to attend to them.

"You're leaving?" Vargas asked in surprise.

"Well, yes; I – I think I need to stop drinking." This was the best Arthur could come up with on the spur of the moment.

"Huh. I was kind of looking forward to talking to you a little more. It's not easy for me to socialize, but you're a pretty easygoing bas—you're pretty easy to talk to."

Maybe Arthur had been hasty. He put his wallet away. "I – I don't mind talking, but I really don't want to get drunk tonight." No kidding. Not if Vargas might turn out to be even more – er – sociable.

"Me neither. Damn hard to find the fucking hotel room when I'm drunk." Vargas appeared to be considering his next words carefully. "If you – would you like to walk around the city a little? The air is cool and clear tonight. We – we could talk while we're walking?"

Now Arthur was a little nervous. "Wh-where did you want to go?" This might be a very bad idea.

"I don't know, ba—I don't know!" Vargas punched the bar angrily, red-faced, and not meeting his eye. "I just meant, go walk around somewhere. So I don't have to sit here sober and watch you get drunk."

Oh. "We – we could walk to the theatre district, I suppose? It's not too far, and I – I always like to look at the people all dressed up for the shows."

Very carefully, very slowly, Vargas raised his gaze to Arthur's. Both of them were a little red by now. "Th-that sounds…reasonable?"

Having gotten this far, Arthur decided to be bolder. "But you have to tell me your first name. I refuse to keep calling you Vargas."

"Bastard, you haven't called me Vargas once since we've met!"

"Did you just call me a _bastard_?" Arthur was somewhat appalled.

"Dammit. Not 'a' bastard. Just – just – it's just a word I use, all right? I call almost everybody bastard. Men, anyway."

Arthur didn't even know what to say to that.

The barman finally seemed to remember them and came over, but Vargas waved him aside. "Thanks; we're leaving." The man shrugged and wiped the bar clean. "Aren't we?"

The blond shrugged, too. "Might as well."

Outside, each of them donned his jacket in the refreshing spring air. "Well?" Arthur asked.

"Well what?"

"Are you going to tell me your first name?" As soon as he'd said this, he worried that he was being too pushy.

But no. "It's Lovino," Vargas muttered.

"Wh-why didn't you want to tell me that? It's a very nice name." Frankly, Arthur was astounded. He'd expected Vargas to storm off in a fit rather than answer.

"It's _not_ a nice name. It's a fucking stupid girly name. Just call me Vargas, will you? Please?" He jerked his head in the direction of the theatre district and they strode off together.

"Whatever you say, git."

Now Vargas looked shocked. "Did you just call me a git?"

"Yeah. Deal with it." He cut his eyes to the brunet, who was either fighting a smirk or a scowl; Arthur couldn't tell. But Vargas kept pace with him, not choosing to alter his course. That was encouraging.

Both men kept their hands in the pockets of their trousers as they walked. The night air was _very_ refreshing. Although Arthur hadn't strictly been drunk, he felt his head clearing. He let Vargas – Lovino – step a pace ahead and considered him objectively, feeling less self-conscious about this than he had in the bar.

Yes, he realized, Lovino Vargas was a bloody attractive man. Arthur felt optimistic. He grinned as he walked on, matching his strides to Vargas' again, examining the other passersby. "What kind of work does your – er – soup plant require in Paris?"

"Cheh. Trying to find someone to take it over. I'm fucking sick of France."

Arthur snorted. "I know how that is. Er – where do you live, then?" It wasn't as though they were going to have any kind of long-term relationship. He might as well ask. He hoped Vargas didn't consider the question intrusive.

"Rome."

That was rather abrupt. But he tried again. "I should have guessed. Your accent is so melodious."

Vargas let out a harsh bark of laughter. "That's a new one."

"It's true, though. Italian voices are very seductive." That was certainly true.

Vargas blushed rather violently, at that. "Uh. Th-thanks." He rubbed a hand over his face again. That was a somewhat endearing trait – as though he was trying to rub the blush away. Arthur smiled at him, but Vargas wasn't looking. "Y-your voice is very – very pleasant, also. I've – been somewhat partial to British accents lately."

"Think yew koindly, guv'nor." Arthur was astonished when Vargas burst out laughing at that. "Oh! I'd no idea you could actually laugh," he continued in his normal voice.

"Shut up, bastard. We're almost at the theatres. Anywhere specific you want to go?"

Blast. Now Vargas was pissed off again. "Er – well, no. It – it's so rare for me to go to a classy evening at the theatre, so I just like to walk around and – well – pretend." He looked down at his shoes. "I know that's rather lame."

But Vargas stopped walking. "Wh-why don't you go to the theatre?" he asked in a quiet tone. "It's not that expensive –?"

"Oh, it's not the expense. I just feel like a git going by myself. I'd rather not even go than come across as some kind of lonely loser who can't get a date."

"Bastard." But apparently Vargas couldn't figure out what else to say. He cleared his throat. "We're both wearing suits…if you fix your stupid tie, we – we could see if there's a show with available tickets?"

Arthur was again surprised and gave Vargas a very soft smile. "That's – uncommonly thoughtful of you," he told his new friend in a very quiet tone. "Thank you."

The brunet was looking at him with eyes wide, with lips slightly parted. "You – when I saw you in the bar, Arthur, I thought you were a very – very attractive man, but right now, you look so – so fucking adorable, I just want to kiss you right here in the middle of the damn sidewalk."

Arthur felt his smile get brighter. "But that wouldn't be appropriate." He took care to keep his voice calm and amenable. "Maybe – maybe we could, could talk about that more after the show?"

Vargas blushed, but smiled tentatively back at him. "That sounds like a very good idea," he agreed, stepping forward and straightening Arthur's sloppy tie for him. "I – I haven't actually been out on a real date in a long, long time," he confessed, busying himself with the knot.

"Too busy traveling?"

"Cheh, yes. Oh, I went to some stupid dinner party a few weeks ago, but other than that, not much." Vargas pressed his lips together, still not looking up, still not letting go of Arthur's tie.

"Don't I know it. Dinner parties are hell," the Brit agreed with a big grin. He took the slender hands away from his tie and held them in his own for a second, forcing the brunet to look at him. "Is – is it a date, then?" he asked softly. "I'd – like to have the memory of a – a date with you."

"Yes, it's a date, dammit," Vargas replied easily. "Let go of my fucking hands, bastard, and we'll go see if they have any tickets."

…

When the performance was over the two men walked back outside, smiling at each other. "Thank you so much. I appreciate that you were amenable to it."

"Cheh, whatever. I told you, you're a pretty easygoing bastard. I – I had a good time." Vargas rubbed his face again. "The – the performance was surprisingly good."

"The company wasn't bad, either." But he didn't know how to go forward from here. Was Vargas really interested in him, or was he thinking of Arthur as an easy—

Vargas took his hand but dropped it almost immediately. "I hope you're not – not thinking of going back to your hotel alone?"

Arthur blushed. "I don't – I'm not – er – oh, bloody hell, I don't even know what to say." He yanked his hand away and covered his eyes.

"Bastard?"

"I – I really like you," Arthur stammered. "I don't want to be a one-night stand."

"Arthur…I don't want that either. I – am happy to be spending time with you." Vargas stopped speaking and Arthur allowed his hand to drop to his side.

"Th-that's good..." Green eyes met amber briefly.

The brunet turned away. "Yes. It's surprisingly good. But – and this is fairly important – I don't want to stand out in the middle of the theatre district talking to you. And since you didn't want to spend more time in the bar, it seems to me our only logical choices are wandering around Paris some more, or going to one of our hotel rooms. I – won't touch you, if you don't want me to, but I'm not…ready to say good night to you, just yet."

"Th-that's – yes, I understand, Lovino." Whoops. He hoped his new friend wouldn't take offense.

But he hadn't even seemed to notice. "Come along. Let's head back. We – we can walk around for a little while, if you're uncomfortable with the – the hotel room idea?"

Arthur nodded, and they walked off together.

…

An hour later, after more getting-to-know-you talk and much murmured flirting, they directed their steps back to the hotel. The two of them proceeded into the lobby and up the stairs. "Here's my room," Lovino told him, opening the door and leading him inside by the hand.

"What a coincidence," Arthur laughed, stepping forward and shutting the door behind them. "This is my room too, wanker."

"Ah, bastard," Romano said, sliding into his arms, "that was the best role-play yet. You were awesome, and you look great in that suit." They kissed sweetly.

"You always look great to me. Er - thanks for the date," England murmured to him. "I actually was a little afraid to ask you about it."

"Do you really feel that way? About going to the shows alone?"

England nodded. "But sometimes I make myself go, just to try to get over it."

"Don't. You know you can just ask me, idiot. That's what – what boyfriends are for."

"You really are the absolute best," the blond replied, kissing him again. "So glad Denmark was a meddling matchmaking git."

"Mm. So am I, bastard," Romano replied, unbuttoning his friend's suit jacket, untying his tie. "So am I."


	158. Embarrassment

**Embarrassment.**

Estonia hated hosting meetings, but this time it was his turn. Well, at least it was summer, and the weather was good. He planned to calmly invite Macau for a dinner date. It had amused him to see that all the "L" nations were unavailable, for one reason or another.

He got to the meeting room a little late. Everything had been set up the night before, including the projector for the slide presentation about bioengineered crops. People were swarming, as usual, and Macau stood conveniently alone near the tea things. "Want to go to dinner with me tonight?" Estonia asked with a nice smile, before pouring some tea.

Macau looked around wildly, then back to the host nation. "What? Me?" He was bright red and completely flustered. How cute! Even – uh – Hong Kong hadn't looked so cute when Estonia had first asked.

"Yes, you. You're not that familiar with Tallinn, are you? I could show you around." He kept the smile on his face, but he was starting to get a little nervous. Macau's expression hadn't changed, and –

"Oh, no, no, no, no! I can't go out with you!" the Asian nation yelled in a loud voice, backing away a little.

"Shh!" Estonia, deeply embarrassed, gave his arm a little yank, but apparently no one had heard.

Macau's voice immediately dropped to a dramatic whisper. "Oh. No. Of course not. Sorry."

"Why can't you go out with me?"

"Hong Kong would _kill me!_ " Macau burst into tears and elbowed his way away from the table.

Damn that Hong Kong. Was his life going to be plagued by that nation for the rest of his life? He finished getting his tea, sighing, and headed to the front of that room.

…

"And we can see from this chart that the production of canola is decreasing; the European Union is still strongly against its use." Estonia yawned. This stuff was even boring to _him!_ He looked around the room to see many nations in a sort of stupor, staring at the screen. Prussia and Denmark were up to something, he could tell, but he didn't really care.

He fiddled with his glasses, checking his notes, while he pushed the button to advance the slide. "In point of fact, since the late 1970s – " Estonia interrupted himself as people in the room began giggling. He pushed his glasses up his nose and glanced at Prussia and Denmark, but they were laughing just as much as everyone else. Estonia couldn't see what the problem was. He waited a moment – a bad idea, because the hilarity increased – and then raised his voice. "Please focus on the presentation!"

Laughter simply became louder. Angry now, Estonia glared at the two troublemakers. "Prussia! Denmark!"

Denmark was laughing so hard he couldn't speak, but he pointed to the screen. A giant hand-drawn red heart with "Hong Kong + Estonia" was on it. A _slide!_ That little, annoying sneak. Estonia hurriedly advanced the slide – thankfully to one with the proper information on it – and cursed under his breath. Hong Kong wouldn't meet his eyes, but he was smirking, and so was Japan. Hah. He'd bet Hungary had helped out with that, too. "Ahem. Please settle down, people." He stood, patient and mature, by the laptop, and waited.

The chart on the screen was pretty boring. Soon everyone was calm again, although there were still residual chuckles here and there. Estonia ignored them and went on with his presentation.

About six slides later he was staring right at the screen as he advanced the slide, and actually yelped when this one came up. "Photoshop?" he yelled, making everyone laugh again. "Damn it, Hong Kong!" He was blisteringly angry and terribly embarrassed, too; the slide showed a grinning Estonia being kissed by Hong Kong in a _cheongsam_ dress. The still-smirking Hong Kong still wouldn't look up, but Hungary was beaming. Of course. "We will take a fifteen-minute break!"

Many nations leaped up and left the room, but a lot of them were still amused by the slide, which Estonia had forgotten to advance. He ignored it and stomped straight up to Hong Kong. "Stop disrupting my meeting! Can't you be man enough to tell me this personally? Privately?"

At that, the Asian glanced up reproachfully. "I try, Estonia," he said sadly. "I keep trying, and you keep rejecting me."

If that was a pity ploy, it failed. "Because you keep doing stuff like this!" He swept his arm around to point at the slide and almost hit Romano in the nose. "Oops. Sorry."

"Yeah, it's all right, bastard. Get your love life straightened out before the meeting starts again."

"Shut it, wanker. Let's go get a snack." England dragged the Italian out of the room.

Hong Kong, Japan, and Hungary were the only ones that remained with Estonia by now. "Estonia-san, you don't wish to date Hong Kong again?"

"He's so photogenic," Hungary blurted out. Both Estonia and Japan glared at that.

"Will you two please witness this? I've told Hong Kong a million times, I don't want to keep dating him. He's too clingy and demands too much attention. Several times I thought he'd gotten the message, but apparently not."

Japan looked contrite, as far as Estonia could tell. "Forgive us, Estonia-san. We would not have been so pushy if we had known that."

Estonia scowled at Hong Kong. "Do you understand?" he asked his ex-boyfriend. "Say it! Say you understand, say it in front of Hungary and Japan, so they know it! So you get it through your thick skull!"

"I understand," Hong Kong sighed, his voice wobbly. "I'll stop p-pestering you."

"Good." Then Estonia felt as if he were being too cruel, so he went on in a quiet voice, "Sorry."

"Uh-huh."

Damn, now he felt like a complete bastard. "A-are there any more slides in there I need to get rid of?"

"Yes," Hungary replied, her eyes on Hong Kong. "Let me see the presentation; I can delete them for you." She efficiently cleaned up the presentation file. "Come on, you two. Let's get some fresh air."

Hong Kong and Japan headed towards the door with her; Estonia sank into a chair and rested his forehead on the table. The last thing he heard Hungary say, as they left the room, was, "Why haven't you two ever gone out together?"

Estonia snorted. Hopefully this day would go by without too much more drama. He could never decide whether meetings were better when they were boring, or when drama happened to liven them up.

Drama. As long as it didn't take place at his own expense.

…

No roses. He wondered if this was because he didn't have to stay at the hotel. Maybe the nation didn't know his home address.

Or – or maybe he, or she, was mad? Maybe the person thought he really was in love with Hong Kong.

Estonia wanted to get angry about this. He wanted to feel irritated that the rose person wasn't man enough (as it were) to step up and ask him for a date.

B-but he was a little sad that he hadn't gotten them, this time.


	159. A Serious Date

**A Serious Date.**

Estonia straightened his tie and gripped his bunch of cornflowers tightly. Tonight he was taking the beautiful and very earnest Monaco to dinner, at her home, and who knew what could happen? Her casinos were famous. Estonia wasn't much of a gambler, but he knew it would be fun to explore it and maybe make a few small bets. To wager a kiss? He felt himself blushing as he rang the doorbell.

Monaco smiled softly as she opened the door. "Good evening, Estonia. Please come inside."

He entered the small, exquisite home, extending the bouquet. "I hope you like flowers."

"They are beautiful," she agreed. "A very striking color. Allow me a moment to place them in water."

When he nodded, she stepped out of the room; he examined the painting that dominated the room, a large oil painting of France in pre-Revolutionary dress. Ah, that man was so handsome no matter what he wore. Even if he wore nothing! Estonia blushed and turned away from the doorway where Monaco had just come back with the flowers in a vase. She placed them on the mantelpiece and turned to him. "Do we have any specific plans?" he asked.

"Well, you did say dinner, and so I've made reservations for us at a very nice place. The summer evenings are fine enough that we can spend time exploring the city beforehand, if you like?"

"I would like that very much." He offered her his arm and the two of them passed out into the warm and mellow sun.

Wow, she was so pretty. Very regal-looking, despite her somewhat nerdy glasses. But of course Estonia's glasses were fairly unfashionable, too. Maybe he ought to look into getting a new, more stylish pair. He smiled at his date as they walked; she began giving him a little tour guide talk.

"May we spend some time at the casino?" he asked eagerly, during a lull.

Monaco stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk and let go of his arm. "Estonia, you did no research about my home?"

It was difficult to read her expression. "Yes, I did," he told her. "That's why I want to go play in the casino! It sounds so interesting."

But she continued gazing at him with a very flat expression. "I am not permitted in the casino."

He blinked. "Why not?"

"The casinos are for tourists. Visitors."

"I'm a visitor." Surely she didn't mean _completely not permitted to enter?_ "You could show me around inside, at least?"

"I am afraid not." She took his arm again and began to walk on; Estonia had no choice but to follow.

Well, that was disappointing. Not that he'd planned to drop a bundle in the casino, but he'd at least wanted to see it. Maybe he'd come back sometime with a different nation. But he'd have to look up this regulation. It seemed somewhat arbitrary.

Time enough for that later. Estonia exerted himself to be gentlemanly again. "You're very close to France, aren't you? I saw the very large portrait you had of him in the living room." Hah. Hard to miss it. It took up half a wall.

"France has been my protector for many years. I trust him with everything."

"Somewhat like Liechtenstein and Switzerland, then, I suppose?"

"In a way. Although I'm not strictly as dependent on France as she is with Switzerland." Monaco took up the tour guide talk again, explaining about architecture and history.

Estonia paid close attention. His request to Monaco had not been "asking for a date." Instead, he'd simply said that he was on a quest to learn more about each nation. He hoped that this one-size-fits-all explanation would work for her and everyone else he sought out this year, and that way if anyone from before heard of it, he wouldn't come across as a loser who couldn't keep a partner.

Although of course he was beginning to feel that way, Hong Kong excepted, of course.

When they passed a market stall selling roses, he stopped and bought her a pink one to wear in her hair. Monaco blushed, but arranged the rose prettily, using a nearby shop window as a mirror. "Thank you," she told him matter-of-factly. "It's nice to look festive every once in a while." But she didn't seem particularly interested in the rose itself.

Eventually the two of them reached the restaurant she'd chosen. It had a beautiful view of the Mediterranean, and with the setting sun behind the restaurant the view was bathed in the golden glow. "This is striking," Estonia told his date.

"Thank you."

The waiter led them to the table and they sat, gazing happily outside at the water, the boats, the buildings. As Estonia looked, he allowed himself to think about this date. Monaco was certainly lovely. The restriction about the casino was a little disappointing. He'd envisioned happy, laughing dates with her, playing roulette or blackjack, sort of how James Bond would act if he ever cut loose. But that wasn't able to take place, apparently.

The most disconcerting thing about the date so far was that Monaco seemed quite stuffy. She was very polite and formal. And that was nice, of course, but it was just the same way that Estonia was! He could just imagine the two of them trying to have some kind of conversation and they'd just sit there being stilted and formal with each other. Bleah.

Here he became aware that she was gazing at him wordlessly, and he forced himself to pay attention to her. "Is this one of your favorite restaurants?" he asked, the first question that popped into his head.

"Not particularly. The food is all right, but I like to bring visitors here because of the view." She peeked out at the water again.

He was surprised at that. Yes, the view was awesome, but if he had a date, he'd take her (or him) to the best restaurant in Tallinn, to impress her (or him). He said as much.

"Oh!" Monaco pressed her palms to her suddenly-red cheeks. "Estonia, is this a – a _date_?"

Whoops. He'd forgotten about his cover story. "W-well, I – I wasn't sure about it," he waffled, scrambling to come up with something sensible. "I thought maybe tonight we'd just spend time together and – and I could see, you know, just how – "

But she interrupted. "Oh. I had no idea. I – you – " She stumbled to a halt as well.

"Please forgive me," he offered. Gentlemanly he could be; perhaps it would help smooth things over.

"Of course." Monaco seemed to have a grip on herself as well, after that.

The waiter brought their meals and they silently began to eat. Estonia was inwardly cursing himself. Now he would be committed to try to date her! Up until that thoughtless comment he'd been fairly certain they wouldn't succeed as dates, because they were too similar, with their formal and (he had to admit) sensible natures. But now – if he backed off now, he'd come across as incredibly rude. To tell a girl he'd considered dating her, and then not ask for the date? Oh, Estonia's brain was in a muddle, and he worked his way through the meal with an absolute minimum of conversation, his mind on everything else. Monaco too seemed thoughtful.

When the meal was over he paid the bill and they left; she avoided taking his proffered arm. Was he going too fast? Or maybe she wanted to hold hands. He reached for her hand but she clearly drew it away. "Estonia, I – I don't think we should try to date," she said, with a slight frown.

Oh. "Why not?" He was relieved, but curious.

"I think you're a nice nation. You've been very polite tonight, and quite interested in my culture, but I – but I – " She waved her hands aimlessly, searching for a thought; he didn't know her well, but this already seemed uncharacteristic, for her to be at a loss. "I just think you – we – oh, I don't know how to put it!"

"I do," he sighed. "Too sensible? Too stuffy?" Of course she would think that. It was absolutely true.

Monaco blushed. "W-well, somewhat. Not too stuffy, of course." She cleared her throat. "I'm simply not certain it would work out."

That was a very polite way of putting it. "I understand. Would you like to go home?"

"Y-yes, please. I'm a bit disconcerted right now." She looked around somewhat sadly. "It's this way."

Silently the two passed through bustling Monegasque streets to her tidy home. Estonia thought about personality types, about his own personality; he wondered how many nations had this sort of dichotomy in their souls: seeming stuffy and sensible – well, he _was_ sensible, no 'seeming' about it – on the outside, and wishing to have fun and play, on the inside. He'd assumed everyone was like that, more or less. Maybe he'd been wrong.

By the time they reached Monaco's home the sun had set completely. "I'm sorry it didn't work out," Estonia told her somewhat cheerfully, having used the walking time to sort all this out in his head. "I'll see you at the next meeting?"

Monaco gave him a very beautiful smile. "Thank you, Estonia. You're truly a gentleman." They shook hands and she went into her home with a last wave.

And since he was now free for the evening, Estonia headed off to the casino with a jaunty step, whistling his national anthem.


	160. A Wild Date!

**A Wild Date!**

Estonia was already in an awesome frame of mind and he hadn't even left his house yet! Tonight he would be spending the evening with the mysterious and deep Netherlands, in Amsterdam. Whew. Netherlands had already asked him to spend the night, too! His bag was packed and he felt fantastic.

Of course, Estonia was not getting his, ah, sexual hopes up. He assumed that they would be partaking of Amsterdam's nightlife. That would probably befuddle him to the point where he couldn't get home tonight anyway. He was thankful for the overnight invitation. Amsterdam was one of the wildest cities in the world. He knew it would be a stunning evening, whether or not they actually started dating afterwards.

…

"Hey, Netherlands! Hi!" He held out his bouquet of cornflowers. Hadn't quite been sure whether someone like Netherlands would appreciate them, but he'd decided to make the gesture.

With a grunt his date nodded and took the flowers, gesturing him into the house. "Bel said you liked to give flowers."

Bel? Oh, Belgium. Right. "That was a great date," he mused, before remembering that Belgium was Netherlands' sister.

"Date?" The tall blond scowled at Estonia, but didn't speak further. He went to the kitchen, possibly to get a vase; Estonia put his mouth on severe lockdown while he reminisced about Belgium and her piggish chocolate-loving ways. He snorted a little with the memory, and Netherlands came back out.

"Where are we going tonight?"

"Downtown," his date replied with a secretive grin. "See how you like it."

"I'm sure we'll have fun."

The host nation nodded and took his hand, drawing him out of the house. _Yes!_

…

"Would you like to visit a museum before dinner? We wouldn't have much time but at least we could see a little."

Wow. That was possibly the longest phrase Estonia had ever heard his date say. He nodded. "Of course! I'm always interested in the culture of other countries."

Netherlands led him to the Rijksmuseum, still holding his hand. Together they wandered the halls, gazing at the newly-restored building as well. "Beautiful," Estonia breathed, paying more attention to the artworks than to his date. But it was a grand museum; he was certain that Netherlands would understand his distractions. He'd invite him to Tallinn, soon, to visit the Estonian museums.

"Dinner now?"

"Yes, thanks. Your city is lovely." It was certainly vibrant; there were pedestrians and cars all over the place. They waited at the corner for a light to change; he beamed. This was an amazing place!

"Lovely?"

"Ah, you know what I mean! It's loud and fun. Quite different from my home." But this contrast with his host's quiet nature led him to some introspection, so he didn't speak much on the way to the restaurant.

Netherlands led him to a restaurant called De Belhamel. Once again the visitor lost his breath, gazing at the dark and alluring interior, so evocative of a gentler time. The waiter seated them at a corner table, smiling, and Estonia grinned at his date. "This is so _nice_!" Though "nice" wasn't really a good enough word for this. "Striking," he decided. "You're a great date."

"Date?" Netherlands said again.

Estonia blushed and went for honesty. "W-well, yes. I – I'm working on my project to spend more time with all the nations," he explained earnestly, trying to stay calm, "but I always thought you were very handsome, and I suppose I got a little carried away thinking about spending time with you." Plus Netherlands had been holding his hand all evening.

His date smiled an enigmatic smile. "Okay."

And that was it? Boy, Estonia sometimes felt like he'd never, ever, get a grip on the social niceties of other nations. He grinned and picked up his water glass, now much more at ease. "Will you take me for a walk through the city later? Could we stop at one of the famous coffeeshops?" Dutch 'coffeeshops' were the places where marijuana was legally sold and consumed, he knew, not places to get coffee. Estonia hadn't had much experience with being high, and tonight would be the perfect opportunity, with someone as savvy as Netherlands squiring him around!

His date winked at him. _Winked_ at him! "Sure."

They began to discuss the menu, and Estonia was completely thrilled.

…

Outside afterwards, they joined hands again. Netherlands was not as taciturn as Norway, which was nice, but he was certainly no Prussia-level blabbermouth. This was also reassuring. Estonia tried not to babble to compensate for his date's long silences; they wandered to the city center mostly wrapped in comforting quiet.

"Listen." Netherlands bent down to Estonia. "Coffeeshops aren't supposed to sell to foreigners, but since you're with me tonight, it shouldn't be a problem." Estonia nodded. "Been high before?" his date asked.

"A few times. Not often, not recently."

"Okay. I'll take care of you." He smiled down at the Baltic nation, who blushed. Man, what a fun boyfriend he was going to be! Fun and caring, too. Ahead of them the neon sign for a coffeeshop flashed, so they entered.

The atmosphere was – well – it was exactly as Estonia would have pictured it, if he'd thought much about the ambience. Big, comfy chairs, dim lighting. Just like a bar, really. He allowed Netherlands to lead him to an overstuffed dark leather sofa, where they sat close together. Netherlands put his arm around Estonia and lit up a joint with his other hand.

"Huh? Don't you have to order it?" He was confused already.

"I carry it with me," Netherlands grunted, passing it to him.

Estonia took a toke of the joint, holding it in his lungs for a moment and handing it back. "I feel so daring," he giggled.

Netherlands took a deeper drag – but then, he was used to it – and smiled at him. "You're cute."

"Glad you think so!" He giggled again and took the joint.

They passed it back and forth until it was gone. Netherlands nodded at various patrons, or lost himself in reverie; Estonia excitedly waited for the drug to take effect.

"Another?" Netherlands asked, after a while.

"Sure!"

…

Half an hour later the only thing Estonia could think about was food. "Is there anything to eat here?"

"We just had dinner?"

The Baltic nation giggled. "I know, but I have – have the munchies," he laughed, leaning against his date.

Netherlands sighed. "Want some chocolate?"

Estonia burst into giggles again, thinking about Belgium and her chocolate. "Sure. Or crisps."

Netherlands shoved him upright and got off the couch, heading to the long bar, where he bought a few chocolate bars and a sandwich. "Sorry, no crisps."

Estonia grabbed the sandwich and began to maul it, making happy grunts as he chewed and swallowed. He was far too preoccupied with his food to notice his date's expression of resignation, and even if he _had_ noticed it, he probably wouldn't have been able to stop himself.

Seconds later, it seemed to him, the entire sandwich was gone. "Where'd it go?"

"You ate it all."

"Wow! That's so – wow. That was a _great sandwich._ " He thought about this. "Now I'm thirsty."

"Can't get alcoholic drinks here."

"Oh! No, no, I mean water, or juice, or something. Please?" He leaned forward and batted his eyes at Netherlands before falling back onto the couch and laughing long, loud hoots of laughter.

Netherlands wordlessly brought him some soda.

"Thank you, thank you!" Estonia guzzled the soda, which made him burp, which made him laugh some more. "Thank you," he crooned again, swaying towards Netherlands, who put his arm around Estonia's shoulders. "Where's that chocolate?"

Netherlands held out a wrapped bar of Belgian chocolate; of course Estonia started laughing again. "What's funny about chocolate?"

"Ha ha! Well, when Belgium and I had our date, she took me to a chocolate factory, and she was a real pig! Stuffed her mouth full of chocolate, it was really funny." Wasn't there some reason he wasn't supposed to talk about Belgium, though?

Netherlands narrowed his eyes, but Estonia didn't see this. "Just like you stuffed your mouth full of sandwich?"

Estonia couldn't answer, because he'd smashed the entire chocolate bar into his mouth and was trying to chew it with the little leverage he had. He could tell his cheeks were all pooched out like a hamster's; this made him laugh and choke on the chocolate a little. Netherlands swatted him violently on the back.

"Mf. Wow. That was _good chocolate!_ " Estonia snuggled up to Netherlands, licking his fingers clean, and then reached for his date's jacket pocket. Wasn't that where he'd stashed the rest of the chocolate bars?

Netherlands grabbed his wrist. "What are you doing?"

"Want more chocolate! Please?"

"Who's the pig now?" But he handed over a chocolate bar.

Many of the coffeeshop patrons were gazing on Estonia's antics, albeit with rather vague expressions of their own. He smiled back at all of them. This made him realize he might have been acting a little silly, so he very calmly and deliberately unwrapped the chocolate bar. He set it on his knee while he accurately folded the wrapper into smaller and smaller squares, aligning its edges with military precision. When it had been folded as small as he could get it, he set it on the arm of the couch with a beaming grin. "There."

Netherlands simply gestured to the chocolate bar, which had begun to melt onto his trouser leg. "Damn!" Estonia jumped up, knocking the rest of the chocolate to the floor, and started madly trying to brush the melted chocolate off his pants. He looked like a fool! Damn, damn, damn.

His date sighed, using a napkin to scoop up the chocolate. "Let's go for a walk," he suggested, tossing it in the trash.

"Okay! Fine!" Yes, it'd be nice, outside in the fresher air. Estonia hadn't realized what a smoker's fug was in this place. He took the host nation's hand and they went outside, with him tripping lightly along, while Netherlands walked in his usual no-nonsense manner.

"Feeling all right?"

Estonia took some deep breaths. "Yeah! Thanks." He smiled and snuggled up to his date, who scanned the area with a thoughtful expression.

"What do you want to do now?"

"Canal boat ride?" He batted his eyelashes at Netherlands; well, it had worked before.

"Sure." His date led him to a boat dock, where they embarked with a lot of other passengers. Netherlands drew him to the window, and they stood looking outside at the water.

Estonia noticed that the water was very sparkly. He liked it. Was the water at home this sparkly? He wished they could sit on the deck, so he could see it up close. The boat ride was very soothing, and the two of them didn't speak much, except when his date pointed out something interesting outside. Estonia nodded and tried to look wise, though his mind kept going back to the pretty, sparkly water.

When the boat ride was over and they were back on land, Estonia suddenly realized he felt exhausted, and said as much. "Thought so." Netherlands gestured to a cab and they got in, driving back to his house. The Baltic nation was very glad he had a place to stay tonight, and remembering the anticipation he'd had, about the coffeeshops and the drugs, he was very thankful that Netherlands had offered him a bed for the night.

He was so out of it that he didn't really realize it, when Netherlands put him in a spare room instead of sharing his own bed. In moments, Estonia was asleep, and all night long he dreamt of chocolate and sparkly water.

…

When he awakened in the morning he felt very refreshed. The sun streamed into his bedroom window. Examining the room he realized that it was a guest room; it had only a single bed, which was very comfortable. He stretched and smiled before getting up and going to look for Netherlands, to thank him for his very good care last night.

Still in his rumpled clothing, he washed up and walked downstairs to the kitchen. A note sat on the table, next to the windmill salt and pepper shakers:

THANKS FOR COMING OVER. LOTS OF WORK TODAY. HOPE YOU CAN GET HOME ALL RIGHT. SEE YOU AT THE NEXT MEETING.

From this impersonal note, Estonia guessed they weren't really dating. He wondered what he'd done last night to change that. Then he wondered whether he'd ever have the balls to ask. Probably not.

His shoulders slumped as he walked upstairs to shower and change. At least he'd gotten his high for the decade.


	161. Summer Adventure

**Summer Adventure.**

Romano and England brought their luggage onto the cruise ship, trying not to gawk. Both of them were half apprehensive, half excited about this trip. At least Den and the albino potato had a cabin on a different part of the ship. Romano was very glad of that. They dumped their bags and headed out to explore, a few hours before the ship would depart.

"Kesesese! Hey, _Romano!_ "

"Dammit. Just once, I wish his fucking nation radar was turned off."

"Eh, calm down. We don't have to spend the whole trip with them."

"Please?" They turned to see their friends waving from across the deck. "Let's make some kind of deal where we only do something together once a day, or whatever. I'm really looking forward to spending some r-ro-romantic time with you." Dammit, he felt himself blushing. "Fuck. But it'll be hard to do that if they're around us, all the time."

"I know. We'll come up with something."

Prussia and Denmark finally caught up with them. "Is this not awesome?"

"Yeah, it's awesome," England said, before Romano could get a word in. "Where's your cabin?"

"Deck 11, near the front of the ship."

"It's the bow, you moron. You still didn't bother to learn any ship terminology?"

"Why should I? Not like I'm going to be running any fleets or anything." Prussia ruffled Romano's hair.

"Stop that."

"Ready for a week of constant partying?" Den asked with a grin. "I am. Nation work's been getting me down."

"Poor baby." Prussia reached up and patted his head. "Yeah, I'm ready."

England took a step backwards. "Don't pat _my_ hair, Gilbert. Let's go look around the ship. Is that all right with you?" he asked Romano.

"What? Yes! Why the hell wouldn't it be?" He scowled but let the blond take his hand, briefly. Then he yanked his hand away. Didn't want to look like some fucking lovesick idiot wandering around hand in hand with his stupid boyfriend, even if this _was_ his Christmas present, even if England _was_ the perfect thoughtful boyfriend. There were limits, after all.

"Did you bring your wheeled suitcase, Gilbert?"

"Kesesese, are you kidding? Of course I did. It's _Danish._ Plus all my old suitcases have holes in them."

They stopped short as Prussia clapped his forehead with both hands and began moaning. "What's the matter with you?" Denmark jabbed him with an elbow.

He gestured theatrically to the swimming pool in front of them. "Swimsuits! I didn't bring a swimsuit!"

"Pfft. Calm down. They probably sell them in the gift shop or something."

Prussia looked at Denmark in amazement. "I don't want a stupid gift shop bathing suit. What time is it?"

England checked his watch. "One-thirty. Why?"

The albino nodded. "I'm going back on shore. I know there's got to be a swimsuit shop nearby; they cater to the people on these boats."

"Ships," the other three corrected.

"Whatever! I have to hurry." He headed for the gangplank, his friends trailing after him.

"Prussia, wait! You might miss the sailing."

"Don't worry about me, Den. I got an awesome new cell phone and I already programmed all your numbers into it, so I'll call you and keep you posted on progress. I have four hours, right?"

"Four hours to departure. You have to be on board an hour before that, wanker."

"Okay. Okay, just hang out, and I'll call you on Den's phone when I have an update. Anybody want to go with me?"

"No fucking way, bastard. I have no interest in watching you admire yourself half-naked in a shop full of swim trunks."

"Kesesese! Come on, Den? Arthur?"

"No, just go. It'll be quicker that way. You sure you won't get lost?"

"I won't get lost, Den, just watch me!" He ran down the gangplank, waving, and was soon lost amongst the nearby boutiques.

"He's asking for trouble," Romano muttered.

"Nothing we can do about it now. Let's go get something to drink."

Since Prussia was out of sight, the other two shrugged and followed Denmark to the nearest bar.

…

"Soon sailing time," Romano said drowsily, checking his watch. "The albino potato's going to miss the boat." He laughed a little at that.

Denmark checked the clock on his phone. "Ah, he'll make it. Still got an hour." He poured himself another beer from the pitcher.

"Funny to think about what would happen if he did miss it, though." England grinned. "One of these days he's going to have to learn that the world doesn't revolve around him."

"He'll never learn that lesson, bastard. If he didn't learn it when he first became an ex-nation, it'll never sink in now." With another swig of a delicious vodka martini Romano felt himself growing even mellower, and leaned back against the railing to look out at the sparkly water.

A loud horn blast woke him up in a panic. "Huh? Hey? Hey, bastards, what the fuck was that?"

England looked just as freaked out. "How the hell would I know? I was asleep!"

"Yeah, me too." Den scratched his head. "Huh, seems like that maybe was the warning for departure?"

"Do you suppose Gilbert got back and just couldn't find us?"

"Hurry up. Let's get to the gangplank side of the boat."

"Ship."

Yes, indeed, the ship was pulling away from the dock. A weak crowd stood on shore and waved, but there was no sign of Prussia. "He must have gone back to the cabin," Den realized. " _Cabin_ ," he then snarked to his friends.

"Whatever, git. Come on, let's go find him."

Halfway there Den's phone rang. "Shit, yes. I should have just called him." He answered the phone cheerfully. "Hello, awesome Denmark speaking." He grinned towards the sky. "What? _What?_ Oh, Prussia, you total fuckwit. Didn't I tell you this was going to happen?"

"He missed the damn boat?"

"Ship? Guess so. Den wouldn't be so agitated otherwise."

"You – wait, Prussia, wait!" But a disgusted expression on the Dane's face seemed to prove that Prussia had hung up the phone.

"He's on shore?" Romano asked gleefully.

"Yes. He's such a goddamn clueless idiot."

"Well, what's he going to do? He can't expect us to have them stop the damn ship while he borrows a bloody rowboat or whatever."

"No, he's going to call America. That was the last thing he said before he hung up."

"What a wanker," England muttered, but it was a half-assed mutter. "Now what?"

"I don't know. Want to get dinner? He'll call me if there's anything he expects me to do."

"Sure, let's go eat. Better eat on the damn deck, if we can, so you get better reception."

"Right."

…

"Stupid albino potato," Romano mumbled, for the umpteenth time. None of them had been able to settle; after a hasty meal of finger foods they'd all rushed back to the landward side of the ship to watch and see what might happen. England was convinced that he'd borrow a motorboat from America, who wouldn't miss the chance to do something heroic like this, but Romano didn't think that was likely. For one thing, it was getting dark out. "I'm guessing he'll get to the next port of call somehow and then join up with us."

"But then why isn't he answering his phone?" Denmark was so mad. He kept pacing back and forth on the deck, trying to reach Prussia by phone, completely oblivious to the interested glances of passersby. "He's _such a damn idiot!_ I told him he wouldn't make it back. Didn't I tell him?" he repeated.

"You told him," England sighed.

"Maybe he lost the fucking phone."

"Maybe." Den pushed a hand through his hair and slipped the phone back into his pocket. "If only he – "

People around them began squealing and cheering. "Fireworks?" Romano wondered. He took England's hand, remembering how the sound of fireworks always brought back memories of artillery in the war. The blond squeezed gratefully.

"Nope. Just flares. I wonder why an airplane's setting off flares."

"That git's going to fly his bloody plane right over – " But England's voice stumbled to a halt as they saw, outlined against the fading sunset, a small figure leap from the airplane. "No. Not possible."

Romano squeezed tighter. "Are you kidding? That's a hundred percent possible. That's just the kind of thing that attention-seeking bastard would do, dammit." Now they all peered up at the approaching figure, who pulled the cord on a parachute which opened to display the Stars and Stripes in all its glory.

"What a bloody idiot. Idiots. I hate them both."

"I know, bastard." But he wasn't really paying attention to England; he was mesmerized by that falling figure, and so were all the crowds on the deck.

"Hey, _Prussia!_ " Denmark yelled, whooping and laughing. "Over here!" He waved his arms frantically.

"Will you settle down, stupid? I don't want them to know he's with us!" Romano's voice was a panicked hiss.

England snorted. "You really think that's going to be possible now? Once he lands, this story's going to be all over the ship. I bet he doesn't have to pay for a single drink on the rest of the cruise."

"Fine. He can go get bombed with all the people on ship, and you and I can be together, somewhere else."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

By now the madly-waving figure of Prussia was discernable as he angled towards the deck. People cleared a landing space. He was yelling something to them and gesturing. "What the hell's he yelling about?"

"Beats me. We're clearing the deck for him." (Denmark was still jumping up and down and waving.)

"Oh, a rope? Maybe he wants us to throw a rope so he doesn't go over top of the ship and land in the water on the other side." England smirked. "You know, I'm really tempted to watch that."

"Ah, bastard, let's get a rope ready if we can. If it was you, and he did that, you'd be fucking pissed off."

"The point, Romano, the whole bloody _point_ is that I would never pull some asinine stunt like this!" The blond glared at him, hands on hips.

"What about all your damn James Bond shit? That's exactly what he's doing!" Romano was equally furious; by this point they were so intent on their argument that they missed Denmark leaping off a table to grab Prussia by the foot and hang on. For one tense moment the two of them lifted higher into the air, and then the albino managed to struggle out of his 'chute, which floated up to snag on a higher deck, as he and Denmark plummeted into a heap.

"Ow. Oh, damn you, Prussia. You're the world's biggest idiot."

But before Den could speak further, the watching crowd burst into applause. Prussia stood up and bowed, grinning, and then pulled a flare from inside his jacket and shot it into the air. The airplane circled and headed back to shore, but not before launching a small barrage of fireworks. The cruise patrons were enchanted.

Not so much Prussia's friends. Denmark was lying flat on the deck, moaning, and the other two continued to argue about whether or not England was a showoff.

"Hey, shut up, you two. That's not awesome." He reached a hand to help Den off the deck. "What are you yelling about, anyway?"

"Never mind," England barked. "What the hell possessed you?"

Romano glared at him and then at Prussia. "You moron."

"Man, you guys are the wettest bunch of wet blankets that ever lived. That was an amazing stunt and I'm glad my good friend America was able to heroically help me out." He nodded; someone on the upper deck dropped his parachute down and he began to bundle it up.

"Did you get your stupid bathing suit?" Denmark snarled.

Prussia stopped in the middle of folding. "Oh, shit. _Shit!_ I left it in America's airplane!"


	162. A Very, Very Confusing Date

_Note that back when I originally wrote this chapter, Himaruya had not yet decided on a gender for New Zealand._

 _..._

 **A Very, Very Confusing Date.**

Estonia was busy cleaning his house when the phone rang. Damn! He didn't have time for this. New Zealand was coming over for a date tonight, and he wanted the place to be spotless for her. "Hello?"

"Estonia? Hi, it's Lithuania."

"Oh. How are you?"

"I'm fine. Listen, Poland suddenly had this idea for a dinner party tonight. Can you make it?"

Estonia grinned. He was quite thankful that he had a date, now. "Can't. Sorry. I have a date with New Zealand." Well, maybe it was imprudent to brag about it this early, but if it got him out of one of Poland's bizarre parties –

"That'll be fun. I hope you take good care of him."

Estonia froze. "Uh? New Zealand, I said. Not Sealand."

"That's who I thought you said. New Zealand. Down near Australia? He's a lot of fun."

"Ah, uh, uh," he panicked, "Lithuania, why do you keep calling her 'him'?"

There was a flat silence on the other end of the phone, and then: "Estonia, New Zealand is a man! Well, a young man, but a man." Poland started shouting something in the background. "Hold on." In a moment he was back. "Now _I'm_ confused. Poland says he's totally a girl!"

Someone else started yelling; Estonia simply stood there, holding onto the phone receiver, in shock.

"Latvia thinks he's a guy."

"Well, that's two for, two against," Estonia laughed, still not quite processing this. Then, when he did, he exploded. "Damn, Lithuania, how am I going to find out for sure? I can't go on a date with someone whose gender I don't even know. I'll be afraid to speak!"

"I don't know. Bring him to Poland's party? Then we can all help you find out."

Hah, that made sense, but now he had to go to the stupid party! "If she's in a dress, we're not coming," Estonia snapped, furious at having been manipulated into this.

But Lithuania began laughing happily. "That's no indicator at all, Estonia, none at all!"

"Fine," he eventually said, when his friend began to calm down. "We'll come to Poland's party if, and I do mean _if_ , I can't discern her gender when she gets here."

" _His_ gender, Estonia! Ha ha!"

…

The rest of the housecleaning went to hell in a handbasket as Estonia paced, muttered to himself, spent time looking things up on the internet. England! England would probably know, right? Or Australia. He thought back to that bizarre date with Australia. No, he couldn't call him and ask something like that, but he could ask England. Surely the island nation would be calm enough to help him out. He frantically dialed the number of the London townhouse.

"Hello, this is Arthur Kirkland speaking. I'm off on a cruise, and so I am unable to take your telephone call. Please leave a message, or call me back after the 4th of September. Bye!"

"Damn!" he shouted, before slamming down the phone. Now what?

Well, it was true, he hadn't come up with any date plans. And he had already made up his mind, after Hong Kong, not to go sleeping with anyone on the first date. So he doubted there would be too much of a problem, unless Poland started getting stupid with the questions. Estonia would be a gentleman.

He stood up straight. He'd prevent Poland from pestering his date, oh yes. And he'd find out, somehow, whether New Zealand was a man or a woman.

…

By the time the doorbell rang he was in a much calmer frame of mind. He'd come up with some gender-neutral phrases; he'd decided to treat New Zealand as a woman. The reasoning was that he wouldn't be uncomfortable accidentally telling a man he looked beautiful (well, he might, a little), but he'd feel damn silly telling a woman she was handsome!

Of course, if New Zealand looked unattractive, he'd just keep his mouth shut.

The doorbell rang. Estonia tripped and fell on his way to answer it, with the result that he was red-faced and out of breath when he opened the door. "Hi," he said with a nervous smile. New Zealand looked adorable in her signature red and black jacket and pants. "Please come in. I've really been looking forward to our date." Oh, god, he was going to have to monitor every single word that came out of his mouth!

"I'm glad you asked me." The voice was soft, but not obviously feminine. "Australia told me you were fun to hang out with."

"Th-that's nice? Yes, it is," he decided, having checked the sentence before and after speaking. "I, ah, didn't have any actual plans, and we've – we've been invited to a dinner party at Poland's place. Will that be all right?"

"Sure. I like Poland. He has some nice outfits." Then he or she glanced down at the red and black clothing. "Am I dressed all right?"

"Yes, you look – fine," Estonia waffled. "Poland's more about the party, and less about how anyone looks."

"Oh, good. All right, then. Let's go?"

Estonia offered his arm, and New Zealand took it, though that was no real indicator either.

On the way there, he was in a frenzy, trying to think of neutral conversational topics but also wanting to get to know his date better. "How are things at your place?" he decided. "Nation things."

"Oh, fine. The weather's fine, economy's good. There's not really much exciting or different going on at the moment."

And that was the end of that. Estonia desultorily asked a few more questions, scanning them mentally before speaking; New Zealand answered them, but the blond was afraid to go too in-depth with his conversation.

Luckily the trip to Poland's didn't take long. When Estonia rang the doorbell he heard a flurry of noise behind the door, and then it opened to show not only a red-dress-clad Poland, but Lithuania, Latvia, Russia, Belarus and Sealand all standing there. "H-hi," he managed, quailing under Russia's unnerving eye. Oh, he hoped he wouldn't turn into a trembling mass of spineless jelly just because Russia was here! What a way to impress a date.

But everyone was staring at New Zealand; obviously Poland had briefed them about the confusion. "Hey, like, come in. You're totally the last ones to get here." The host stood back, forcing everyone behind him to move. "You look great, New Zealand," Poland added.

"Thank you! I hadn't known we were coming to a party or I'd have dressed up more."

"That's, like, all right. I'm just happy that everyone was totally able to come on such short notice."

Estonia grabbed Lithuania by the collar and hissed, "You invited _Russia?_ "

"Don't blame me! Latvia babbled about it and Russia decided to invite himself! And then Belarus tagged along."

"Someday I'm going to kill that kid," Estonia grumbled.

"Your date is a boy," Lithuania laughed in response _._

By now everyone was in the main hall, and Poland poured wine for the two newest guests. "Well? _Na zdrowie!_ "

Everyone offered a variation on "Cheers" as they drank the toast. "Is this party in honor of anything specific, Poland?" Estonia wondered. "A national celebration or something?"

"Nope, like, not at all. I just got these new shoes and wanted to show them off, so a party totally seemed like a great idea. Plus Liet and I didn't have, like, a single thing to do tonight." He held up the hem of the dress and waggled his foot around to show off the shoes.

"Brother, why does Poland have better shoes than you or me?" Belarus asked.

Estonia drew New Zealand further back from those two.

Russia smiled. "I do not know? Perhaps Poland should give me some of his beautiful shoes, da?"

"Ah ha ha, you know they totally wouldn't fit your big feet, Russia!"

Estonia sucked in his breath. It always amazed him how willing Poland was to taunt Russia. He could feel himself beginning to tremble and he could see that Lithuania and Latvia were both a little nervous too. To combat this he blurted out, "May I show New Zealand around the house?"

"Yeah, like, all right. Make sure you show, uh, make sure you go into the Hall of Mirrors! Sh—show, ah, totally show New Zealand the whole place!" Poland collapsed into a chair, giggling wildly, and Lithuania poured him another glass of wine. Estonia took advantage of this to spirit New Zealand out of that room. He was pretty worried now. Poland was going to be silly all night, trying not to explicitly assign a gender to New Zealand.

"Sorry," he whispered. "Russia and Belarus make me nervous."

"Oh. Okay, I'll try to remember that." New Zealand gripped his arm. "I don't know them well."

As they walked towards the Hall of Mirrors, Estonia explained about the time period he'd spent under Russia's roof. Since it was a safe topic, not in any way connected with the guesswork of his date's gender, he embellished the story with a lot of details, and tried to make it as visual for her as he could. He was quite gratified when New Zealand shivered and held him more tightly during the scary parts.

In the Hall of Mirrors his date let go and wandered dreamily down the parquet floor, admiring either the ornate mirrors themselves, or his own reflection in them. "Europe has such beautiful art history. Sometimes I think my country's too rustic."

"Maybe I can come see it sometime. I've spent a lot of time reading about it." Though if he didn't manage to solve the mystery tonight, that would just mean another date of panic and frustration. Hm.

"I don't mind." Before New Zealand could speak further, the rest of the party guests tumbled into the Hall of Mirrors, and Estonia could see from the thinly-veiled snickers that all of them were on a mission. Oh, he did _not_ want them to embarrass his date! He'd have to shut them up, even if – if – if it meant standing up to R-R-Russia and B-Belarus…

"So, New Zealand," Belarus then smirked. "You should see Poland's fabulous lounges. He hosts a lot of parties, and he has a beautiful ladies' lounge and a very clublike men's lounge."

Estonia wanted to sink into the floor. He clasped his date's hand.

"Oh, yeah!" Sealand yelled. "It's a very manly lounge!" He burst into giggles and Latvia elbowed him.

New Zealand, Estonia could tell, was trying to be polite. So he jumped into the conversation. "We were going to take a walk around the gardens." He headed towards the big French doors leading in that direction, tugging the brunet none-too-gently by the hand.

"I love Poland's gardens," Latvia nodded. "I'll come. Come on, Sea, let's go with them." Sealand said nothing, but continued to giggle.

The four of them made their escape. "Don't walk with us," Estonia hissed to Latvia. "Take Sealand somewhere else."

Latvia reddened. "Okay! I don't want to hear any of that love talk like you had with Hong Kong, anyway!" he blurted out, grabbing Sealand's hand and running to the other end of the gardens.

Estonia was angry and embarrassed by this point. He first checked to make sure none of the other nations were around, and then he calmly took New Zealand's hands and apologized. "They are all very intrusive into other people's lives, except Lithuania. I'm really sorry."

"Maybe we should go," his date suggested. "You're clearly uncomfortable, and that makes me a little worried."

He smiled weakly. "Thanks. I – I think I'd like to go. This whole date is too weird." Whoops. He hoped New Zealand wouldn't take that the wrong way. "I – I mean, the party, the comments, and everything."

"I understand, Estonia. Yes, let's make our excuses and leave. I – I can say I don't feel well, or something?"

But it wouldn't be nice of Estonia to allow his date to take the heat. "I'll do it. You just – just back me up, all right? And please ignore any of their stupid commentary."

New Zealand nodded. "Okay. Let's go find Poland."

"I'd rather find Lithuania, but I agree, we should officially tell Poland."

They went back into the house and searched all over until they found the host and his other guests in the library. "Estonia, you can't, like, keep hiding your date away. It's totally impolite."

"I'm sorry," he said, ignoring that. "We're not feeling well, and I'm going to escort New Zealand home." He could feel himself blushing, but managed not to stammer, mostly by avoiding the gazes of Russia and his demonic sister.

Everyone but Lithuania smirked at that. "Like, suit yourself," Poland said airily, flapping a hand towards the front door. "See ya." With that he turned back to his other guests, who completely ignored Estonia and his date.

Lithuania came to the door with them. "Sorry," he whispered, but not without surreptitiously giving New Zealand the once-over. "I shouldn't have pressured you into coming."

"It's all right. Thanks. Take care, and stay away from Russia." Estonia could still feel himself trembling as he gripped New Zealand's hand.

"Okay. See you at the next meeting. Bye, New Zealand!" They shook hands. "See you soon."

"Goodbye. Thank you for inviting us."

Lithuania closed the door and Estonia practically ran down the front path to get away. When they reached the corner, out of breath, he stopped. "I'm really so sorry. I'm just so nervous around Russia. Belarus too."

"I understand. Why don't we go back to your home?" New Zealand smiled kindly at him, and he nodded.

"Thank you."

…

Back at Estonia's place he offered tea, but New Zealand surprised him. "I'm sorry, Estonia. I've been thinking about it all the way back here, and I think I'll be heading home."

"What? Why?" Oh, _now_ what? He mentally scanned all their conversation and couldn't remember saying anything stupid…

"It's like this. I'm not very familiar with Russia or Belarus, but I'm astonished that you could be so nervous and trembling in front of them, with a date! I like to have fun at parties, no matter who's there. And I understand how you feel about Russia, after what you told me tonight, but I don't think I want to keep dating you and have you panic and freeze every time we run into someone you don't like. I'm so sorry. Other than that you've been very attentive, which is nice. England said you were a nice guy, and he was right, but…I just don't think I can deal with that."

Estonia began to argue. "But I'm only like that around Russia! I never get like that with anybody else!" And then he realized that he'd at least be off the hook, gender-wise, if they didn't date anymore. He blew out a loud breath and waited for New Zealand to speak.

"I understand, but…I still think it's better if we don't continue." He, or possibly she, stood on tiptoe to give Estonia a little kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for taking care of me tonight."

"You're welcome." He'd calmed down already. They walked to the front door together. "Well, I did have a nice time with you, at least. I hope you don't feel it was a waste of your time?"

"Of course not. Thank you again, Estonia." New Zealand left, and he watched that slender figure walk away before closing the door. Stupid Russia. He knew it would take a very long time to push those memories into the background. Hopefully whoever he ended up with could understand that.

Estonia made himself the promised cup of tea, now thinking about the white rose giver, and eventually went up to his cold and lonely bed.


	163. Thrift Shop

**Thrift Shop.**

"Why the fuck are you two dragging me to this place, anyway?" Romano eyed the large, sprawling building with distaste. In one of Berlin's less attractive areas, the whole place seemed seedy. The fence around the property was in disrepair, the parking lot blacktop cracked and pitted; a few old vehicles stood in the far corner, looking as if they'd disintegrate into piles of rust at the slightest puff of wind.

"Kesesese! This place always has great stuff. I try to shop here when I can, because it's so much cheaper than department stores, and you know about West and his wallet."

"What about your stupid casino money?" The Italian scowled at his friend.

"Ha ha! He blew it all, didn't he?" Denmark laughed. "On the Alaska cruise. I've been helping him out a little since then, but basically he's back to the same old broke Prussia."

"Dammit, I should have known. Don't come begging me for cash, stupid."

"Aw, I awesomely won't, Romano. But I do only have 20 Euros today." Prussia held the door to the thrift store open. "Come in! Let's see what kind of treasures we can find."

"Phew! This place stinks, bastards!"

"Shh! Don't be mean. It always smells a bit funny in here, but don't worry about it. Just come on; it won't be so bad."

"Seriously, T. K., what are we looking for today, anyway?" Den wondered, fingering a worn black leather jacket as they passed it. "Clothes? These are in pretty bad shape. I'm not sure you want to be seen in them."

"Clothes, toys, whatever," Prussia laughed, dancing down an aisle. "Whatever we find that's cool!"

" _Toys?_ You've finally gone out of your albino gourd. Unless you mean cool stuff like Legos." Romano wrinkled his nose at the smell.

"Oh, I just meant 'stuff,' you know. Things that would be cool, that aren't clothes. Come on, let's head over to the awesome appliance department."

"Appliances? You're going to buy a washing machine? What's Germany going to say about that?" Denmark ruffled the white hair and burst out laughing. "Or are you too embarrassed to mix your laundry in with his?" Even Romano snorted at that.

"I told you, Den, I don't know _what_ I'm awesomely going to buy. Need to see what they've got. But it's unlikely I'd buy a washing machine," he considered. "I mean, we'd have to worry about hookups and shit, and I'm not even sure we really have the space for – _oh!_ Look at that!" Prussia pointed to an electronic keyboard. "That'd be awesome. You could learn to play it, Romano, and then we could all jam together!" He hurried over and examined it.

"Don't buy shit for me, stupid. My skin's crawling just being in this place."

"It's broken," Denmark pointed out. "The back is cracked open." He laughed. "That seems kind of indicative of this whole place."

The three of them examined the broken keyboard. "Well, I bet I could fix it, or West can. How much is it?" The albino checked the tag. "Yeah! I'm going to buy it. Wait here while I go get a cart. Don't let anyone else take it!" This despite the fact that they were the only customers in the store.

"He's nuts," Romano announced to the world in general, watching Prussia scamper off.

"Yeah, well. Nothing we can do about it." They both tried to ignore their surroundings while they waited.

When Prussia came back with the cart he and Denmark loaded the keyboard into it. "Got the plug and all that shit?" Romano asked.

"Yes, yes, I got it."

"Are we done yet?" Denmark poked him.

"You must be kidding. I usually spend about three hours here."

Both his friends groaned. "Well? Move it, bastard. The sooner you get looking at this stuff, the sooner we can get out of here."

"Right, here, Den, you push the cart." Prussia ran off down an aisle of clothes; his friends followed a bit more sedately.

"I can't believe we're doing this. This is severely lame, even for him."

"You're telling me, bastard. If I'd known this was on his agenda I would have stayed home."

"What's England up to today?"

"No fucking idea. When I told him I was meeting you two, he said 'good luck with that' and hung up." They laughed together, finally catching up to Prussia.

"Check this out. Isn't it sweet?" He held up a pink fringed vest. "Wouldn't this look awesome on me?"

"You're an idiot. First of all, it looks like a cowgirl stripper shirt. Second of all, it smells horrible! I can smell it from all the way over here." Romano turned his whole body away from the offending garment; Prussia, laughing, flapped it towards him like a bullfighter's cape.

Denmark stepped back from this. "Plus it looks crappy, Prussia; that color will make you look sick."

"Bet it'd look great on Romano, though…am I right? Kesesese!"

"Look, you ass. You're not getting me into any of this secondhand, ugly shit! When I'm not wearing my uniform I wear Armani, or Gucci. Not this no-name crap." He smirked.

"Gucci! That's like, fifty Euros for a t-shirt, my friend." Even Denmark looked amazed. "Where do you get the money?"

"Don't worry about me. I _economize_ , so that I can dress well and I don't have to look like a stupid homeless person." He lashed out and kicked Prussia in the shin.

"Ow. Stop. Well, all right; I admit this thing does smell a little funny." Prussia hung it back up.

"Watch the cart," Den said absently. "I'm going to go look at shoes. I want to see what kind of stuff they have."

"Oh, bring the cart, Romano. The shoes are usually pretty fun to look at." The two of them left Romano standing in the aisle with the cart.

"Dammit. Stupid bastards," he muttered, but pushed the cart after them. He knew they were just doing this to get back at him for his haughty commentary, but fuck! This stuff might be inexpensive, but it was awful. He couldn't even think of a word bad enough for it. He wrinkled his nose at a rack of footed Batman pajamas (in grown-up sizes, dammit) as he hurried to catch up with them. "Hey." He bashed Denmark in the ass with the cart. "Don't make me push this, stupid."

Den laughed and ruffled his hair. "Yeah, all right, all right."

"Check these out! Green alligator dress shoes." Prussia held them up. "Or, well, they might just be leather stamped to look like alligator; I know a lot of places do that these days, since alligators are endangered or something." He peered inside. "Oh. Too small for me. Want to try them on, Romano?"

"Chigi! No. Come on, just hurry it up? I'd even rather be playing paintball than loafing around this place."

"You're kidding. You are kidding, right?"

What the hell; he might as well. "No, I'm not kidding. Can we go?"

"Okay." Prussia put the shoes back down on the rack. "Where did Den go?"

They glanced around the well-lit store for him, and couldn't find him, though they did hear a bunch of giggling from some children near the dressing rooms. "You think that's him, bastard?"

"Must be." Prussia started to push the cart over, but then left it. "Forget the stupid keyboard. Not awesome. Let's go."

The two of them hurried to the dressing room area, where Denmark stood in a big-ass orange fox fur coat with the hood up, admiring his reflection in the mirror. "Den?" the albino asked carefully. "Romano wants to go play paintball."

Denmark smiled at his reflection. "This is fucking awesome!"

…

 _Inspired by the Macklemore song._


	164. The New Avengers

**The New Avengers.**

"I am not happy about this at all," Romano grumbled. "Why do those fuckers have to go off and do private shit when we have nothing to do? I wanted to do something fun. Maybe racing at the stupid Nürburgring or something."

"Deal with it, git. Are you bored with me? Maybe want to start dating Prussia, so you don't miss out on all this shite? Ow!" England yelled, as the Italian punched him.

"Bastard, you get nastier all the time." He put his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand, staring out the window of England's kitchen. "Let's go crash their party."

"You're serious? With Russia and Belarus there?" England finished his tea. "If you like."

"I have an idea, though." Romano had been mulling this over for weeks, trying to figure out how best to annoy the damn albino potato and Denmark. Hmm, he needed to come up with some annoying nickname for Den, too. Maybe later. For now, he explained his idea to England, who laughed.

"You really think you can pull this off? I'm game. I've got some things that can help." He pointed to his eye and made a little circling motion. "Come upstairs."

"Heh heh. Those bastards are going to shit."

"I doubt that. But we'll see."

…

The fake Avengers sat around Prussia's house this time, honoring their newest member, Iron Man. Prussia loved his new outfit – polished titanium (he'd gotten a loan from West and had asked America to fabricate it), and he looked both fearsome and awesome in it – but it clanked when he walked, and it was kind of hot, too. And of course it was impossible to drink beer through the little mouth slit. So at the moment he was only wearing the fancy gloves. Now, those were _really_ cool. America had put little suction cups on them, so they could stick to his beer can! "Kesesese!"

"What are you laughing about?" America playfully elbowed him.

"Love my new suit! You guys are all awesome." The two of them toasted each other and looked over towards the cold fireplace, where Belarus and Den hunched over a checkerboard, madly concentrating.

"What do you mean, you love your new suit? You're not even wearing it!" Russia loomed over him, and the pure green-ness of him was a bit disturbing. From the side they heard one of the checkers players making a lot of jumps.

"Ah, you know what I mean. This is a fun club. We should go out somewhere in our costumes."

"Man, I love cosplay," America agreed. "Count me in."

"Hey, Den! Want to go out somewhere?"

The Viking glanced up, a frown furrowing his forehead. "What? Out where?"

"I don't care! We just want to go out in public in our costumes."

"Might as well," Belarus grumbled, "you're thrashing me at checkers." She tilted the board and all the checkers fell onto the rug. Denmark scowled at her, but she wasn't paying attention to him any longer.

"Well, you have to get into the full costume," the Viking pointed out. "Not just your gloves." He stood up and grabbed his toy hammer.

"Deal!" Prussia scrambled to get into his whole suit; both America and Russia helped him buckle up. "Awesome!" He turned to the stairway and bellowed out, "Hey, _West!_ We're going out now, see you in a bit!"

"Fine," floated down the stairs, in a very long-suffering tone.

Out on the streets of Berlin the group had all the attention that Prussia could ever wish for. People stared, waved, laughed; a few little kids even looked scared at the sight of them (probably the sight of Russia, he grinned to himself). After a few blocks of walking it became almost impossible to move because of the throng. "Let's go to a beer garden and drink," he suggested.

"Forget it," Den told him, bopping him on the helmet with the hammer. "Nobody will see us if we're in the back of a beer garden somewhere. Let's find a place with sidewalk seating."

Russia agreed. "If I have to be out in public looking like this, I at least want to get some kudos for it, da?" He raised a green hand and pointed to a place down the street, next to a neighborhood park. "How about that one?"

"Sounds good to me, Brother," Belarus nodded. Pfft. Of course anything Russia wanted sounded good to her.

The group made its way over and sat in chairs around a small table. Prussia pushed back the face plate of his helmet long enough to order a couple of pitchers of awesome beer, and by the time the waiter had left (with a little smile on his face) people had begun snapping pictures with cell phones and calling out to distant friends to "come see!"

A young boy had worked up his nerve to come speak to them all. "Are you really the Avengers?" he asked breathlessly, from a safe distance.

"Kesesese! Of course we are!" The albino winked at America, who snorted and pushed his glasses up his nose.

"Cool! Why is your suit not red?"

"This is a new experimental model. It's made out of awesome titanium. You like it?"

The boy tilted his head to the side, considering. "It's not as shiny as the red one."

"I know!" Prussia grinned (as did all his friends) when the waiter returned with their pitchers. He poured himself a beer and sipped. "It's for stealth ops. In this suit, I can conceal myself better in the dark." At that, Den spit beer back into his glass, and America actively laughed.

"Wow." The boy stood with his jaw slack, staring, and then suddenly an arrow landed in the pitcher, knocking it all over the hero.

America immediately crouched down, lifting his shield to protect himself; the others all stood up and assumed superhero poses. "All right, what's going on here?" Belarus growled.

A smirking, eyepatched man in a long black coat strode up to the table. "Why aren't you bastards out saving the world?" he barked.

"Uh? C-Colonel Fury?" America stammered, rising and ripping off an intense salute.

"Wow," the little kid said again, staring at the newcomer.

"Who shot the arrow?" Russia wondered, ignoring the others.

A man all in black, with a longbow, joined them. "Gits," he nodded.

"Iggy?" America dropped his hand from the salute and stared. "Holy shit, is that _Romano_?"

All of the nations began laughing, including England and Romano. "Tell me you fell for that, stupid?" he snorted, elbowing the hero in the ribs.

"Ow. Well, I really wasn't expecting anything like that."

"Kesesese! You two are brilliant, you know, awesomely brilliant." Prussia grabbed two chairs from another table and pulled them over. "Sit down! Have a beer."

"Cheh." Romano grabbed a beer and chugged it. "Didn't want you bastards having all the fun."

Denmark laughed at him and ruffled his hair. "You mean you were just bored hanging around with England, and you missed us."

"Chigi! Am I this transparent?" He sloppily poured another beer.

At that, even Belarus laughed, and the group of superheroes sat down again to begin some serious, heroic drinking, waving to passersby all night long.


	165. A Frightening Date

**A Frightening Date.**

Estonia spent a long time after that New Zealand date rethinking the plan. For one thing, he'd already dated Norway; Poland and Prussia were both taken. This meant Romania was next on the list. But back on that day when they'd all gone to the inflatables park, America had asked Estonia questions about him. The hero had wanted to date Romania.

Were they in a relationship? A world meeting came and went, with no particular excitement, and while he saw America gazing longingly at the fanged nation, they were pretty obviously not dating. Either they'd dated briefly and broken up, or America hadn't gotten his nerve up yet to ask. Well, ha ha! If America was too slow to take advantage, then Estonia definitely would ask.

Romano was hosting a Halloween party. Estonia knew that Romania would be a _perfect_ Halloween date. He asked him to be his party date, Romania said yes, and they agreed to meet, in costume, at Romania's, before venturing together to the party.

Estonia wondered what his date's costume would be. Perhaps a vampire? That would be a very obvious choice, though. Maybe he'd go with something more unusual. The Baltic nation chose to dress up as a black cat. He bought a very furry sweater and hat with cat ears, and painted some whiskers on his face. He had also bought leather mittens and slippers to match; black wool pants with a fake fur cat tail completed the ensemble.

As he stood before the mirror, checking out the costume, he felt optimistic. Romania was really fun, he knew, and it would be very amusing to score that nation as a boyfriend when America had failed to do so! Hah. Too bad he had to wear his glasses. They detracted from the costume somewhat. But it would not be a problem.

He hurried to Romania's place, whistling "My Fatherland, My Happiness and Joy."

…

The gloomy Gothic mansion was situated on a hill deep in a forest, with a wide and rambling tree-covered path as the approach. Fallen leaves and twigs crunched under his feet, and every time a twig snapped, he jumped. The moon was full. It was a very spooky atmosphere, and he was exceedingly glad that Romania wasn't hosting the party! He'd be an expert at spooky stuff. _Too_ expert.

Estonia felt kind of nervous while walking up to the door. The home was totally dark. M-maybe Romania had already gone to the party? Maybe he didn't feel well and didn't want to go? But the Baltic nation made himself walk up and use the ghoulish door knocker, heavily banging once, twice, three times, hearing the echo of it deep inside the house. While he waited, he took off his hat and began twisting it in his hands.

A grinning Romania answered the door bearing a single lit candle in a brass candlestick holder, enhancing the creepy atmosphere. He was dressed as a – "A _bunny?_ " Estonia stammered, instead of greeting his date. Instead of just painting whiskers on, Romania had done a full face paint, and that fang looked strangely appropriate. Like an evil bunny. Estonia shivered.

"Hey, you look great! I guess you have a hat or something? We'll be so cute together. Come inside and let me finish dressing. I just need to find my bunny tail." His costume was also black. Gloomy. No; Estonia shook his head. Not gloomy. Cute. Yes. Definitely cute.

Then to his shock Romania grabbed him and kissed him. Not a sexy kiss, or a romantic one, just a – a kind of enthusiastic greeting. Estonia was too stunned to kiss back. Wow. Maybe this date would be more interesting than he'd thought. No wonder America wanted Romania!

When the tail was in place Romania turned back. "Oh. I smudged your whiskers a little when I kissed you. What did you use to make them?"

"Greasepaint."

"Oh. Yeah, you should wash that off and use this smudgeproof stuff I have. It's going to be warm at the party and you don't want your makeup running all over!"

"That's pretty smart. Where is the stuff?"

Romania showed him to a big bathroom. "Don't take too long, though," he laughed, patting Estonia on the bottom. "We don't want to be late."

"Pfft. I'll hurry." Estonia turned on the faucet and prepared to wash his face.

A kisser, huh? And a toucher, too. He really hadn't expected this from the fanged nation. But it would be fun; Romania was clearly into the spirit of things already.

When his whiskers had been smudgeproofed and his cat-ear hat placed on his head, they set out for Romano's place. "I heard he never gives parties," Romania admitted. "I'm really worried. Is he a lame host or something?"

"Hah." Estonia had never been invited to a party at Romano's either. "I don't even know. I can't remember him ever hosting a party before. Maybe England pressured him into it. Well, if it's no good, we can leave."

"Oh, no. I never leave parties, even if they _are_ bad. Because I can make them better! It's my duty to help make a bad party good, or a good party better. You didn't come to my New Year's party, I know."

"No, I went to Greece's. I was tired of the winter weather and a warm New Year's sounded like a really nice idea."

"Was it a good party? I'd expect Greece's parties to be kind of, well…" His voice drifted off.

"Yeah," Estonia laughed. "It was, a little, but everyone else started getting a little crazy, which livened things up."

"Bet _he's_ dressed as a cat, too."

"I bet you're right!"

"Oh, you're going to have so much fun tonight," Romania then said.

"What about you? I hope you are."

"Like I said, I love all parties. No big."

It took some time, once they reached Rome, to get to the front door of Romano's home. The place was packed with nations in costumes. Packed! Estonia saw Japan, Germany and Veneziano huddled together on the porch and waved, receiving only a weak "ve" and a wave from the blond. Those three were also dressed as animals: a squirrel, a big blond wolf, and a chipmunk. "Cute costumes, so far, but wow, this is nuts!"

"Well, if, as you say, he never gives parties, then probably everyone's curious about it. I know he gets really cute when he's drunk."

Estonia tripped over the doorstep; Romania caught him by the wrist and steadied him. " _Cute?_ Romano?" Maybe Romania had him mixed up with someone else?

"Yeah, they were at my party, and he got very sweet and affectionate and giggly. It really was cute."

The Baltic nation was now convinced that Romania was thinking of some other nation. He took his date's fur-gloved hand in his mittened one.

"You dumb Viking bastard," they heard from in the direction of the kitchen. "Don't come in here wearing that stupid showgirl costume. You'll get feathers in the zabaglione!"

"But Romano…"

"Out, out, out! You too, Lady Albino Potato."

"Kesesese! Don't yell at me. I was born this way."

"Shut up and _get out_ , dammit!"

Estonia received an elbow in the ribs from his date. "Not drunk yet," Romania laughed gleefully. "But you'll see."

America (dressed as some kind of reptile) started to approach them, but upon catching Estonia's eye he frowned and backed away. "Oops."

"Oops what?"

The Baltic nation was feeling good, and pretty secure, so he allowed himself to tell his date "America wanted to date you; I guess he's mad at me for snagging you tonight." He kissed Romania on the cheek. Normally he wasn't such a showoff, but – wow!

A hired caterer went by with a tray of drinks and they each took one. "America? Interested in me?" The bunny nation seemed somewhat wistful.

"But you're dating me tonight," Estonia reminded him.

"Yeah, I know." But his voice was quiet.

Someone in a mouse costume brushed past them; Estonia couldn't see who it was. "Look at all the animals," he said in amazement, as Romania pulled him off to the side of the room.

"It really is a zoo in here! Ha ha! Look, China in a panda costume."

"Pretty predictable." This reminded Estonia of his musings at home. "I thought maybe you'd dress as a vampire." He felt himself blushing.

But Romania laughed and laughed; when he got his breath back, he told his nervous date, "That's not really a _costume_!" He squeezed Estonia's hand.

Wh-what? Romania kept laughing, and the Baltic nation tried to join in, but he was distinctly creeped out by that.

Luckily Ukraine was trying to press through the crowd and this distracted him. She looked adorable, dressed as a beer hall waitress with a dirndl and blond braids wig, and when she reached them, she offered a nervous smile. "It's very packed in here," she apologized, trying to fit her body through a small gap between Estonia and someone in a Cheshire Cat costume. "Please excuse me."

Estonia gallantly tried to move away for her to pass; even so, she was forced up against him by the crowd. "Sorry," he said, though it really wasn't his fault.

"It – it's all right, Estonia," she replied breathlessly, finally squeezing through the space and vanishing into the crowd.

He felt Romania bump him and turned to see him waving madly at someone in a black and white dog costume across the room. Bulgaria. That nation offered them a little wave and nod before turning and heading out of the room. Oh, right. Those two were good friends. Maybe he hadn't been able to get a date because Estonia had asked Romania first?

Forget Bulgaria! Estonia and Romania were going to have a great time.

…

Hours later the party was in full swing. Estonia (just a little tipsy) thanked Romania over and over for suggesting he ditch the greasepaint; in a melee like this he knew it would have become smudged and unattractive. Latvia's duck costume had become half undone; he and Sealand (a robot) were running around terrorizing everyone, and Estonia needed some fresh air. "Will you come outside with me?"

"Sure." They pushed through the raucous crowds to the door.

On the relative sanctuary of the front porch, tucked into an isolated corner, both of them stood panting a little, gulping deep breaths of the cool Rome night air. "Wow, this is fun but crazy," Estonia finally said. "No worries about it being a bad party."

"I know. Hah. Even Cameroon is here, and he almost never comes to these things."

Estonia hadn't run into that nation yet. "Cuba, too," he realized. "Who's _not_ here?"

Romania thought. "Haven't seen Cyprus yet," he eventually shrugged. "Did you hear Turkey?"

"Pfft. How could you _not_ hear him? He's louder than Prussia!" They chuckled together. "I'm having a great time. Thank you again for being my date."

"Happy to help out," the fanged nation replied absently.

Hong Kong and Korea chose that moment to come out onto the porch and look around. Estonia froze, and so did they, and then Korea began laughing and laughing. Hong Kong punched him in the arm and escaped down the front steps. "Ow, Hong Kong, wait, da ze!" Still laughing, his friend followed, rubbing his arm.

Estonia bit his lip and turned back to his date. "Everybody's drunk," he hazarded. He didn't want to have to explain what all that had been about.

But Romania seemed to sense it was not a topic for discussion. "Ready to go back in?"

"Yes, but I think I'm going to leave the hat and mittens out here. I can scoop them up when we leave."

"That's a great idea." Romania too took off his excess gear. "I don't think anybody cares much anymore." They stashed it on a porch chair and slipped back inside, passing France and Spain who were dressed as pirates and heading for the cool night air.

"You're adorable, _cher_ Estonia." France patted him on the head _._

Oh, dear. He hoped France wasn't looking for a playmate. "Th-thanks," he stammered, scurrying inside with Romania hot on his heels.

Back inside, people had begun to split into small conversational groups. "Hey, there's Romano. We should at least thank him for inviting us." They hadn't had a chance to get near the host yet.

"Okay." Romania led the way through the crowds until they reached Romano and England, who leaned against the wall near the fireplace.

"Enjoying the party?" the island nation asked. He and Romano were both dressed as cats, too, the fur of the costumes matching their hair color, and they both had little collars on. How cute.

"Everyone's enjoying my party," Romano giggled, cuddling up to England and patting his cheek. "Aren't they, cat bastard?"

"See what I mean?" Romania hissed, jabbing Estonia with an elbow.

The Baltic nation must have seemed very stunned, because England started laughing at him. "Don't worry about it, mate. Enjoy the silence." He patted Romano on the cheek, too, and pulled him close; the host threw his arms around the blond's neck and hugged him.

"Such a pretty kitty," he cooed, nestling his head under England's chin.

"Well, ah, thanks for inviting us!" Estonia blurted out. This was almost embarrassing.

"Take a tour of the place," England suggested. "Not often he throws it open for people to explore."

Romano giggled again, waggling an admonitory finger at them. "Just stay out of the master bedroom, bastards!" He then began to tickle the hair at the nape of England's neck; the island nation laughed, and Estonia and Romania made a run for it.

"Wow. That is – unbelievable. No wonder he doesn't drink much."

"Forget him. Let's go explore."

They wandered off, pushing past others, and headed upstairs. It was indeed a beautiful home, less crowded up here, and they dutifully oohed and aahed at all the striking Italian art and architecture.

Estonia wondered whether his date might try anything while they were near the bedrooms, but somehow he couldn't see them getting sexy with each other while dressed as a bunny and a cat! "Ready to go back down?" he eventually asked.

"I need the rest room. Wait here for me, and we can go down together. Otherwise I might never find you! Ha ha."

"Sure." Estonia shrugged and leaned back against the wall. Romania ducked into the bathroom at the end of the hallway and shut the door.

Suddenly all the lights in the house went out. Estonia stayed calm, breathing deeply, though he could hear squeals and the sound of panicking nations below; someone smashed a glass, and Romano (shocked out of his drunken happy place) began to curse loudly in Italian.

Estonia was glad that Romano was not available for his spreadsheet experiment.

Then his heart leapt into his throat as he felt a hand on his shoulder, someone's warm lips near his. "Eh?" he tried to say. He knew Romania hadn't come out of the bathroom yet! What the – _what_? "Mf?"

The kiss ended quickly. "Happy Halloween," an anonymous voice whispered, warm breath tickling his ear. Something sharp was pressed into his hand. He sensed the other person drawing away and heard footsteps thundering down the staircase. Wh-what had just happened? Some mad kissing maniac was running around the party attacking people? And what was this thing in his hand?

The lights came back on and he glanced around wildly but saw no one. Then he raised his hand up to see what was in it.

A white rose.

Estonia felt faint. The rose giver had k-kissed him! Here in the dark! He leaned against the wall again and took some deep breaths, trying to recover. His mind was racing, his blood as well. Maybe if he hurried downstairs –

Ah, but his date was still in the rest room. It would be completely ill-mannered ( _unheroic_ , as America would say) to rush off and abandon Romania, on the off chance that he could figure out who had kissed him. Who could it have been? He kept craning his neck to peer down the stairs.

Romania came out of the bathroom and smiled. "Everything okay? I saw the lights went out while I was in there. I guess he's just drawing too much power tonight."

"Y-yes," Estonia managed to say, sounding almost normal. "Everything seems to be fine."

"Cool. Let's go back downstairs."

They did go back down, but Estonia had completely lost his focus. He held the rose cupped in one hand, his arm hanging limp at his side. With his free hand he picked up another drink absently, staring around at all the other guests, seeking a clue. But as before, when the person had dropped a rose on the restaurant table during the blackout, Estonia felt certain that the shy nation would have fled the room – or maybe even fled the party – immediately. He set the untouched drink on a table. What to do with the rose? He didn't have a buttonhole. In the end he just kept holding it, trying to see which nations might have left already. But a lot of them were gone by now, and some might simply be outside, getting fresh air. He couldn't possibly guess.

"Feeling all right?" Romania put the back of his hand to Estonia's forehead.

"Just a little – a little discombobulated. I think the quiet of the upstairs shook me out of my party frame of mind."

Romania smiled kindly. "I know how that can be. Want to go home? I don't mind. It's been a really fun party and I got to see drunk Romano! Always a treat."

Estonia laughed a little. "Yes, let's go." Together they made their excuses to the no-longer-giggly host and his friends, and left.

…

The Baltic nation was not very communicative on the way back to Romania's place. His mind whirled in circles. Foremost amongst the panicked thoughts was what to do about Romania. They'd had a lot of fun tonight! Everyone had seemed happy to see them together (well, ha ha, everyone except America), and right up until he'd spotted the rose in his hand he'd been optimistic about their possible future together as boyfriends.

And now all he could think about was how bold the mystery nation was becoming. Maybe soon –

"You think America really wanted to date me?" Romania asked at one point, after a long lull.

"It was after that inflatables park thing. He was asking me all kinds of questions about you, but I didn't know you well, so I couldn't tell him much."

"He's – pretty cute, I have to admit."

Estonia narrowed his eyes. Was Romania going to dump him for America? But then, he'd just been thinking about dumping Romania, too.

They finished the rest of the journey in silence. "Heading for home?"

"I think I will," Estonia sighed. "It'll be more comfortable to wash all this makeup off and sleep in my own bed. I'll give you a call?" He needed to do some serious thinking.

"Sure, just as you like. I'm glad I didn't have to go alone to the party."

"Me too," Estonia smiled, shaking his hand. "Thank you."


	166. A Ridiculous Date

**A Ridiculous Date.**

If Estonia ever did find out who this annoying white rose nation was, he was going to give that nation a piece of his mind! Three months after Halloween and he was still alone and furious. He and Romania had mutually agreed that they would date others; Romania had almost immediately snagged America, and the two of them had been acting like delirious lovesick fools at the last two meetings. Well, Estonia was happy for them. Mostly.

By contrast, he'd kept himself notably alone, not even talking to any other nations much, accessible and open…and no one had approached him. Two meetings, a Christmas alone, and nothing. This shy nation was infuriating.

So he'd decided to keep going with the spreadsheet and ask the beautiful Seychelles for a date. See how the mystery nation liked that idea, hah!

During the Ukraine-conducted meeting he barely paid attention to her fumbling presentations at all, instead alternating between irritation at the rose giver and interest in Seychelles. Finally, _finally_ the meeting ended. He made his way to the dark-haired island nation and calmly asked her for a date, even though there were still a lot of others in the room.

Seychelles nodded and suggested he come to her room in an hour. "We can get room service for dinner, get to know each other a little better, and then I – I have something I need to do tonight, that you can help me with?" She smiled sweetly.

Warning bells went off in his head (he hoped this wouldn't be like his date with Norway), but he agreed to do it. He'd just have to be prepared.

…

"Please come in," she said, holding the door open. Seychelles had changed into a flowered silk dress which draped attractively around her shapely body.

"You don't have a roommate?" he wondered, still on his guard.

"Not this time. That's why I need your help for my project." She gestured to the chairs at the little table and picked up a room service menu.

"Project" sounded a lot more clinical than hopping into bed, so Estonia felt relieved. He sat and picked up the other menu.

Once they'd ordered, he thanked her for agreeing to spend time together. "I know you like to spend time with, ah, France, and England, so it was pleasant for you to take time for me."

"They're both so busy these days, although they do still drop by from time to time." She sat at the table with her hands crossed, an earnest expression on her face. "Now, about my project. It's become important for me to hold a séance every month to check on the well-being of all my people."

"S- _séance_?" Estonia wasn't even sure he'd heard right.

"Yes. Staying in touch with the occult is the best way I know to watch over the people of my country, being as far-flung as they are. But I need a second person with me; I can't do it alone, and nobody else was available. So I'm glad you asked." Room service knocked at the door and she hastened to open it, oblivious to Estonia's rising mirth.

A séance! He'd bet even the spooky Romania didn't have séances anymore. That was so _eighteenth century._ Estonia knew he could get through this, and he'd do it, to help her out, but…pfft. She was off the list, for sure.

Seychelles and the server put the dishes on the table; after she tipped him, the blushing young man left. Seychelles reseated herself and they began to serve the food.

"What makes you interested in the occult, anyway?" he wondered. "I didn't think either France or England was particularly into that."

"Oh, they both have been, at times. It's a pretty old part of my heritage." Seychelles dimpled as she smiled at him; relaxing, Estonia felt himself smile back. "I did a Tarot card reading before you got here."

Now he was taken aback again! "A-about me?"

"Yes. I always check the cards before I spend time alone with someone." She smirked a little. "Don't you want to know what the reading said?"

"I guess." He tried to be nonchalant. He didn't really believe in this stuff. On the other hand –

"The cards tell me that nothing unexpected will happen tonight, and that I am in no danger from you." She speared a piece of calamari on her fork and flourished it before eating it with a grin.

"Pfft." He couldn't repress that little snicker. "I could have told you that without your cards. I'm not a dangerous nation."

"Yes, so it would seem." Her voice immediately went from playful to somber. "That may be the case, but for tonight, all I need you to do is hold my hands and concentrate while we perform the séance."

Right, well, he was committed to this stupid "project," so he'd better get with the program. "What exactly do we do?"

"I'll black out the room – I have special black opaque curtains I bring to every meeting to make sure the room is totally dark – and light one special candle on the table. Sometimes I light incense. Do you object to incense?"

"I have no problems with it."

"Good, then I'll light some. The spirits are always fond of the extra ambience." Seychelles finished her meal and pushed the plates aside.

Estonia continued eating. "Spirits? What happens after you light the incense?"

"I do a mystic chant, and then my spirit guide talks to me from the Other Side."

He could almost hear the capital letters. "Your – your _spirit guide_?" He began to wonder just which other nations had had to help out with this silly project over the years.

"Yes. Please don't snicker, Estonia." She frowned at him.

Had he been snickering? He'd better focus. He wouldn't want her – her _spirit guide_ to put a curse on him! Ha ha. "Sorry."

"Just because you may not believe in the occult doesn't mean it's not real." She waved at his plate. "Hurry up and finish eating. The table needs to be cleared for my crystal ball."

Whoo. At this point the only thing he wanted to do was finish eating and leave. But he'd committed to this, and it promised to be an amusing memory for later. "Won't it go wrong if your helper is a non-believer?"

"No," she snapped, clearing away her plates and some of his. "Monaco often helps me, and she doesn't believe in this at all." This time Seychelles snorted, daintily. "The only thing she believes in is cold, hard cash."

Wasn't that the truth. Estonia nodded and got up to put his empty plates on the dresser. "Do you need help with the blackout curtains?"

"No, I've got a special rig that lets me set them up with just a few snaps. Go wash your hands. The spirits don't like dirty folk calling on them."

Estonia escaped into her little bathroom and stuffed a fist in his mouth, holding back the laughter. This was the craziest date he'd ever been on! Then he used the bathroom and washed his hands – didn't want to anger those spirits – and went back out into the room, which was now completely black but for the single blue-flamed candle on the table. Seychelles' shadow danced crazily on the wall behind her as the candle flame flickered and leaped. "Sit down, please."

He did so, reaching to take her hands; now he smelled the incense, which she must have lit while he was in the bathroom. He took a deep breath; it smelled familiar, and somehow melancholy.

Seychelles had warm hands, slender and supple. He turned them over in his, smiling, and she squeezed his hands angrily. "Focus, please."

"Ahem. Yes. What do I need to focus on?"

"Please try to keep your mind open. Just – think of nothing at all, and allow the winds of the Other World to blow through your mind."

Estonia very quickly squeezed his eyes shut. Think of nothing at all? That was hard. Self-help gurus were always saying things like that; he'd never really felt himself able to achieve it. But he tried.

He heard Seychelles' rhythmic chanting, low and mellifluous as she spoke the arcane syllables. "Open your eyes," she whispered, during a lull, so he did.

The Baltic nation almost cried out in shock; the room was bright, with much more light than one candle could provide. Dazed, he noticed the crystal ball was glowing brightly. Or was it a trick of his imagination, because his eyes had been shut? The candle making his night vision go crazy, that type of thing?

Seychelles kept his hands in hers as she peered into the crystal ball. "Oh, mighty Dark Feather, please hear my plea; tell me how the people of my country are doing."

Estonia held his breath, waiting. He wondered whether he would hear the answer of her spirit guide (this Dark Feather fellow, he supposed), or whether the guide spoke to Seychelles inside her own head. He closed his eyes again in the silence and waited.

" _All is well_ ," a deep voice boomed out. Estonia flinched and his eyes flew open; he jerked his hands away from Seychelles, but her grip was like iron. Where had the voice come from? _"Nothing has changed since you left the country."_

This time watched specifically to see if her mouth moved. He couldn't tell; the shadows were bouncing around too much. But that voice…it was not her normal voice, and if he could have thought clearly through the terror that was beginning to freeze his blood, he'd have bet she couldn't change her voice that much.

She spoke again. "Have there been any weather disturbances?"

" _None whatsoever. I tell you there's nothing to worry about."_

Despite his fear Estonia repressed a chuckle at that.

"Thank you, Dark Feather. You may depart to the peace of the Other Side."

And that was it. Seychelles let go of his hands, blew out the candle, and tugged on the blackout curtains until they collapsed in a heap on the floor. Estonia sat at the table, bemused, his mind a whirl. Had he seriously been listening to ghostly voices from beyond? He shook his head, trying to get his brain aligned with reality again.

"I – I'm glad there's nothing wrong in your country," he croaked out, trying to rise. Why were his knees so jellylike? Estonia braced his hands on the small table.

Seychelles was already done putting away the séance materials. "Thank you again for your help," she told him matter-of-factly. "Do you want to go out and do something now? It's still fairly early."

But Estonia couldn't have gone out and acted normal even if the prize was instant full Nordic status. "Thank you, but I'm going to go lie down," he murmured. "This was very unusual."

She cocked her head to the side and regarded him. "Perhaps you are closer to the occult than you think. Do you need help getting back to your room?"

Oh, he couldn't possibly let her walk him to his room. If anyone saw them – "No, thanks, I'll make it." He weaved across the room and wrenched the door open. "Good night, ah, Seychelles."

"Good night, Estonia," she said merrily, turning on her television set.


	167. Vienna Opera Ball I

**Vienna Opera Ball I.**

Down in Prussia's ancient basement bedroom, where the garish 1970s chartreuse shag rug fought for dominance over the flat black walls, a scene of sartorial mayhem was taking place. Four nations jockeyed for position before the dingy, peeling mirror, grabbed hairbrushes, got dressed, cursed. A silk tie lay on the floor, unheeded; the humid air was thick with the scent of soap and hair gel. "Dammit, this is so stupid. Why didn't we get a hotel?" Romano grumbled, trying to tie his white bowtie. "Why didn't we go to Vienna first? This room is too fucking small! And where the hell is my watch?" He was panicking because they were a little late, panicking because England kept jabbing him whenever he panicked. And of course the albino potato just kept laughing maniacally at him. Bastard.

Prussia handed him his watch. "Here you go, my friend. I just thought it would be sensible to try to save money! All my casino money is gone," he admitted sadly, squirting himself liberally with some imported American men's cologne and then bending down to scoop up the trampled white tie.

"Gack! Gilbert, that stuff stinks." England fanned away the droplets and the other three stepped as far back from the albino as they could, coughing. "Ugh. You smell like horse gonads."

Romano stopped tying his tie and stared. "When the hell have you ever smelled horse gonads, bastard?" Denmark bawled in laughter at that.

"Don't be a git. It's just an expression." England reached for the hairbrush and tried to yank it through his clean, yet snarly hair, but it was no use, and he tossed it behind him to land on the unmade bed.

"Kesesese! It doesn't stink. It was a gift from America. It smells manly and cool, huh, Den? Heroic!" Prussia twirled around in the confined space, knocking into the dresser, and incidentally wafting more cologne around the place.

Denmark, now wedged into the back corner of the room, gently used his fingers to tease his hair into an even more upright style, without even using the mirror. "Whatever."

Romano burst out laughing and poked Prussia in the arm. "Idiot," he said, with less venom than usual. "You actually look pretty nice." He finished tying the bowtie and stepped back from the mirror. "Too bad you smell so bad." He smirked. All four of them looked good, he realized. Each in white tie and tails, military medals (though Romano didn't have too many of those), gleaming black pumps, and tasteful shirt studs – although Prussia, in addition to the Iron Cross dangling beneath the bowtie, had a top hat and a cane as well. Pfft. Showoffy bastard. Could never resist the excess. Romano scooped up his white kid gloves and opened the bedroom door to get some fresh air in there. "I hope our tuxes don't get creased on the drive."

"Don't worry about it," England told him, throwing a black-clad arm around his shoulders and squeezing affectionately. "Everyone else's will too."

Tonight the four friends would be attending the Vienna Opera Ball, one of Austria's most prestigious evening functions. They had been looking forward to it for months, ever since Prussia had suggested it. Yes, it was a haul from Berlin to Vienna, but if the albino potato was out of cash –

Screw it. It was too late to do anything about it now. "Hurry up, bastards. I want to pick up some espresso on the way. Don't want to be falling asleep tonight!"

"Great idea!" Prussia slapped the black top hat on his head, twirled the ivory cane, and used it to reach out and poke the primping England in the ass. "Shift it, Arthur. Stop fussing. You look perfect." He blew a kiss to the island nation.

"Yes, all right. You look bloody elegant, Lucy. Or should I call you Fred Astaire?"

With a stagey grin, the albino pirouetted in place, reaching the cane to poke his boyfriend this time. "Come on, Den. You're driving."

"Fine. I'm driving." Denmark scooped up his phone and slipped it into his breast pocket before winking at himself in the mirror and switching off the lights.

Smooth and elegant, the four friends slipped quietly out of the empty house, locking the door behind them, and eased into the big brown Danish car for the long drive to Vienna.

…

"Quite a crowd," England said, nose pressed against his window, long before they were anywhere near a parking place. The weather was crisp and perfect, no hint of rain, and the streets of Vienna were absolutely thronged. Swells in evening wear strolled towards the Opera House; street vendors sold food to gawking, casually-dressed passersby; energetic children ran squealing here and there, delighted to be out after dark for this fancy occasion. Flashbulbs went off frantically, as people posed and strutted for photographs. "Are these people just passing by, or are they here specifically to celebrity-spot?"

"Kesesese! Wait until we get out of this car. I'll give them an awesome celebrity show." Prussia began to tap dance his feet in the footwell, shifting his ass back and forth, grinning like the fool he was.

Romano ignored the idiotic (and predictable) comment. "This ought to be fun, though," he admitted. "I love formal events, and Austria's right at the top of the list for formal." He glanced at England again. Despite the hair disaster (which, really, no one should ever expect to be different), the bastard looked remarkable. The brunet felt very proud to have such a classy boyfriend, and took his hand for a few seconds. Surprised, England turned to smile at him, and they gazed at each other happily until the car went over a speed bump when Den turned to maneuver into a parking garage.

Prussia muttered "Casino," trying to be subtle about it.

"Casino what? You want to go to the casino instead? Bloody hell."

"No, no, no. I want to go to the casino _afterwards._ I need to make some more money, and it's that lucky time of the year for me, kesesese!" He pulled on his white gloves.

Lucky time of the year? England and Romano shrugged at each other.

"What lucky time of the year?" Den asked, pulling the car into one of the rooftop spaces, the only ones left available.

"It's almost a year since our last casino visit! Honestly, how can you clowns not remember something so epic?"

Romano snorted once more. "Because I keep trying to repress the damn memory, you moron. You _thief._ "

Den shut off the engine. "Shut up, all you little boys, and let's go."

…

Outside the imposing building Romano reached for England's hand. Yes, yes, he knew it was a little embarrassing, but this crowd was huge, and he didn't want to get separated. Now he wished he wasn't wearing gloves; he always liked holding the blond's cool hand, but tonight he was fucked, because he had nowhere to stash the gloves if he took them off. And they were too nice to trash. "What time is it?" he hissed, as someone bumped him and moved on with a quick apology.

"We're fine."

"Pfft." Romano checked his watch. Yeah, they had time. Someone else jostled him and he bumped into England, who put a protective arm around him. The brunet poked the albino potato. "Listen, idiot. Give us each our tickets now, so that if we get separated in this mess, we'll be able to get inside and regroup."

Denmark, towering over everyone, pulled his attention away from the teeming crowd. "Good idea, T. K. Give me my ticket." He held out a hand; the other two stood waiting.

If Prussia could have gone any whiter, he would have. "Uh? Y-you didn't buy tickets?" he asked Den, before turning to the amazed (and now wholly pissed off) Romano. "Why didn't you buy tickets? You know I never have any money!"

"You _fucking moron!_ " Romano kicked him in the shin, repeatedly, because there was no room for Prussia to run. "You dragged us all the way here, in these fancy clothes, and you didn't tell us we needed _tickets?"_

"Ow, Romano, stop! You're going to get my pants all dirty!" Prussia tried to hop away, but he had no room even to squirm away. "Ow! I – I guess I just forgot!" He twisted, trying to get his legs away from his friend's crazed kicking.

"Gilbert, you absolute _tosser._ You really are a bozo. Just like Lucy." England clutched at his head. "I can't believe this."

Denmark scowled down at him. "You know I love you, Prussia, but this is so typical and so fucking stupid!" He pounded down on the top hat, crushing it. "I can't stand it when you get us into these messes!" Pound, pound.

"Stop, stop!" Prussia tried to stab Den's foot with the cane, but as he drew back his arm, his elbow hit a lady in evening dress and a tiara. "Oh! Sorry," he muttered to her; she sneered and moved on, but not before her escort elbowed the albino in the side. "Ow."

"Well, _bugger._ What are we going to do now?" England wondered.

Romano narrowed his eyes as he watched Prussia try (and fail) to restore the top hat. "Is this your stupid way of accidentally-on-purpose getting us to the damn casino?" He growled. "I hate you. I really, really hate you!"

"Uh. No, I really didn't plan that. But we _could_ –"

"No, we couldn't!" the other three chorused.

The crowd had begun to disperse somewhat as partygoers made their way into the building. "Look. It seems to me we have three choices," England snapped. "Go home, go to the bloody casino, or try to get into the Opera Ball. Maybe they have tickets available?"

"The casino is off the list, on principle," Den announced firmly, and Romano nodded a feverish approval.

"Well?" the island nation wondered. "Should we try to get in? Maybe Austria's there and we can ask him for help."

"Is it done by seating, though? Maybe there aren't enough empty seats." This was what worried Romano the most.

"I'll go see," Prussia gasped out, probably just to get away from them. Before anyone could say a word, he was gone, twisting through the crowd like a fish, the battered top hat marking his progress.

Den whipped out his phone. "Let me see if I can find anything in here about it. Number of attendees or whatever."

"Fine." Romano linked his arm with England's and they observed the dwindling crowd for a while.

 _"Fandens!"_ Denmark yelled, tipping his head to the sky. "I hate that self-centered, oblivious, idiotic –"

"What? What is it?" His two friends turned to him in concern.

"Sixteen thousand Euros! That's the price of the cheapest ticket! _One ticket!"_

Many people nearby laughed at this outburst, some obviously wealthy enough to afford entry tickets, and some commoners who just laughed for the fun of it. "Je- _sus_ ," Romano finally managed. "How the fuck did he think we could attend this? He actually thought we'd pay that much to get him in there?"

"Right." England fixed the cuffs of his shirt. "Let's just blow. We can go somewhere else and leave the git here to rot all alone."

"I'm with you," Den snarled, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. "In fact, we should go to the damn casino without him! Romano?"

"What the hell. Might as well go there, now that we're all dolled up." He sighed. He really did love formal events, and England looked so damn good tonight! He'd really wanted to saunter in there with the gorgeous blond on his arm. Dammit. He was never, never, never going to agree to any of Prussia's schemes unless he could thoroughly research them beforehand! "Come on."

But as they turned to go, the albino came breathlessly back, waving the cane. "Okay, okay! It's all settled. We – we just have to wait until most of the people are inside, okay?"

They all stared at him with frowns. "You what?" England finally said.

Romano bit his lip. "How did you manage to get tickets?"

"Or maybe Austria's cutting you some slack? Though I can't imagine why," Den said. "Well?"

"It's not that big a deal! I bought the tickets but left them at the box office. I had a little money left from the casino."

Each of the other three froze. It was obvious to each of them that he was lying. He couldn't possibly have had 64,000 Euros just floating around. Romano frantically cast his mind back to their last casino day. No! The bastard had only _won_ 25,000! What the hell was he playing at?

England and Denmark both had equally suspicious looks on their faces. "So…you…got us four tickets?" the Viking asked, in a very cautious, reasonable tone.

Oh, this could not be good. This could not be good! The albino potato was lying, and they were going to get in some serious shit with Austria…Romano's teeth began chattering with nerves, and he squeezed England's hand so hard that he thought he might break it.

"We got four tickets!" Prussia was fairly oblivious to the tension, it seemed. He did a little tap dance move, forgetting that his top had had been bashed in; he looked like a lunatic ringmaster from some third-rate circus. "Come on! Let's go!" He spun and began leading the way towards the now-deserted steps, lifting and lowering the cane like a drum major, and continued to march around in circles for the entertainment of the masses while his friends spoke in low tones.

"He's lying," Den muttered.

"I know it, bastard. That's more than he actually won at the casino!"

"Well? Do we leave him here? I admit I'm bloody curious to see what he's got up his sleeve."

"B-but Austria? Won't Austria get mad? I don't want him mad at me!" Romano squeezed again.

Den took a deep breath. "I don't think Austria would get too mad at him. They have too much of a history. Austria has a soft spot for Prussia."

"Shit, though, that means Austria would take it out on us. That's even worse! And you don't have your axe, dammit!"

England wrenched his hand away from Romano and began massaging some life back into it. "It could go either way. Austria will be pissed off and take it out on Gilbert, or Austria will be pissed off and take it out on us. Either way he's going to be unhappy." He grinned at the brunet. "I'll protect you, though. I'm game to try, mostly because I want to see what the bloody hell Gilbert's cooked up to get us in the door."

Pursing his lips, Denmark thought about it. "I'm game. Mostly because I want to see the expression on his face when he realizes we know he lied about it. We can hold this over his head for _years._ "

That made Romano crack a smile. "I – I'm game, too, bastards. Because I love formal events and we all look excellent." Yes. The fear of Austria's wrath was outweighed by the opportunity to look good and show off at this fancy formal event. Romano leaned forward and pecked a quick kiss on England's cheek, and then smiled up at Den. "It's a good opportunity for us to get out of our rut. Let's put our happy faces on, brothers."

"Deal." They shook hands on it. "Want to make a bet?" Den grinned, his eyebrows raised in inquiry.

"Yes!" England hissed. "You wankers are always making bets without me, and I want in. What bet?"

"Bet Austria gets mad at him, and not us?"

Den shook his head. "No, Romano, that's a bad bet. For all we know, he and Austria did agree to free tickets. Bet we…can embarrass him in there?"

Three minds whirled furiously. "He doesn't embarrass easily," the island nation pointed out.

"Well? Let's not even make a bet, then, stupid. Let's just try to embarrass him."

"Sounds okay to me." Den held out his hand and they all shook hands again, before hurrying to catch up with their marching albino friend.


	168. Vienna Opera Ball II

**Vienna Opera Ball II.**

Den felt very, very suspicious. More suspicious than he'd let on to Romano and England. Was Prussia lying? He had to be. And Denmark did not like it when his partners lied to him. Norge had only done this once, in 1814, and Den had gotten so angry he'd broken up with him and sent him to Sweden. Oh, Norge had repented, but it had taken the Viking almost a hundred years to make up with him. Damn. Well, there was nothing for it, right at this minute. Not while his other friends were standing by.

"Come on, slackers!" the albino called out.

"Might as well get in there," Den sighed, staring at that smirk.

Romano grunted. "Dumb bastard." He took England's hand and they walked towards the building.

As they passed the leering Prussia, he whacked each of them in the ass with the cane, until Den reached out and grabbed it, breaking it in half. "Stop with the cane shit," he grumbled, tossing the pieces aside.

England and Romano laughed, but Prussia's face glowed with instant rage. "Denmark! How dare you break my cane! That was an important historical artifact." He scowled and bent to pick up the pieces, slotting the broken edges together sadly.

This surprised Den and made him feel a little guilty. "Wh-what occasion?" he asked. He could sense the others holding their breath as well.

"Kesesese! Nah. I used the last of my casino money for it. It's not a big deal. I was just giving you shit. Come on, get inside." He flapped his cane pieces at them, and they all passed into the Opera House, Prussia still carrying the broken bits.

The ornate, softly lit lobby was almost deserted; a few couples primped or murmured here and there, preparatory to entering the main hall. Even though the big doors were shut, they could hear the music and susurration of voices luring them onward. "Hold on a minute, T. K. Let me fix that. You look ridiculous." Denmark, still feeling a little bad about the cane, took the bashed hat and awkwardly tried to prod it back into a shape resembling a top hat.

Romano scoffed at this. "Forget it, stupid. It's beyond repair, just like the damn cane. Put it behind a statue and let's go see what's going on." He gestured towards the marble busts that stood proudly around the edges of the lobby.

"Great idea, my friend." Prussia flung it like a Frisbee and it ringed the nearest bust neatly. "That okay, Den?"

"Perfectly fine. Let's go dance or something!" The Viking finally began to relax again, and took Prussia's hand. "I'm glad we're here."

But before they could step further into the main area, Austria appeared, storming into the lobby in his beautiful white military uniform, an intense frown on his face. "I should have known you four would try to crash this!" he yelled, red-faced with anger, eyeing each one in turn.

"Prussia _said_ he bought tickets." One eyebrow raised, England drawled this in a lazy voice, smirking.

The host nation turned to him. "Well? Did you?" He crossed his arms menacingly.

But Prussia laughed. "Not really."

Shit. Den poised himself for a fight. He hadn't expected to get kicked out so soon! Looked like it would be a casino night after all.

Austria grabbed the albino's arm and shook it. "You cheapskates couldn't even afford tickets? They're not that expensive!" He huffed. "Or is it all just the thrill of the illegal for you?"

Before anyone could ask about this, or start yelling or fighting, Prussia put his hands up to placate them all. "Just calm down! Everybody calm down. We're here as West's guests. He paid for a box, right? We're here as guests in his box. Guests _of_ his box? Whatever!"

"Then why aren't you with him? Stop hanging around in the lobby and annoying me!" Austria scowled at Prussia, who laughed again and poked him with one of the pieces of the cane. "Stop that!"

"Now, wait a minute, Austria." Den towered over the brunet. "Are you going to yell at all these other people for hanging around in the lobby?" He gestured to the other guests.

"It _is_ kind of unfair how you always p-pick on P-Prussia," Romano stammered. "H-he doesn't mean any harm." He stepped back behind England after saying this.

"Aw," his friends chorused, and he smacked England in the back of the head. "Git," the blond added, drawing Romano back out beside him. "Stop hitting me."

Austria scanned the lobby, took a deep breath, and blew it out again. "All right. Prussia, I apologize for casting aspersions on you. Will that satisfy you?" He sketched a sarcastic bow.

"Kesesese! Sure, why not?"

"Just one more thing. I don't want any male couples hogging the middle of the dance floor. If you want to dance together, stay on the edges. Understood?"

A chorus of "Understoods" echoed back at him.

"Good. Now, I have to go. Make sure you behave yourselves!" Austria scurried back into the party, leaving the other four staring.

England cleared his throat and somehow made it sound nasty. "You 'bought tickets,' I believe you said?"

"Arthur, you are so damn snotty when you want to be. Yeah, I said that, but it was just to get you lard-asses moving and in the door."

"So Germany agreed to let us share his box? That's cool. I wonder how much a damn box costs," Den now wondered. "I'm going to have to look this shit up later. I thought it said sixteen thousand for a ticket, but Austria said they weren't that expensive."

"Maybe nations get a discount," Prussia suggested.

England laughed. "Maybe sixteen thousand is cheap, for Austria!"

But Romano had a different, and more important, concern. "Wait a minute, wait a minute, just wait, bastards, wait. If we have to share a box with the potato head, does that mean my idiot brother's up there? I don't want to spend the entire evening with those two dopey lovebirds, dammit!"

"Sorry. Was the only thing I could think of. And it was _awesome~_ , wasn't it? We didn't have to spend sixteen thousand _or_ five hundred! Two thousand. Whatever. Kesesese! And – and anyway," Prussia said, much more seriously, "we don't really need to bother West in his box. Not unless you guys want to go sit down somewhere. They – they can be romantic all by themselves." He bounced up and down and finally put the cane down by the bust wearing his battered hat. "Come on, boys, let's get in there and shake our booty! Booties? Whatever."

"Why are you talking like such an idiot?" Romano asked. "More idiotic than usual."

"Hey, I'm just excited!" He spun in place. "My plan worked!"

"Pfft. Why do I think something else is bound to go wrong?" England muttered, loud enough for his friends to hear.

"Calm down and have fun, Ethel! Stop being so negative!"

"Right. Let's walk, Romano. Come in and dance with me, on the edges of bloody Austria's bloody formal Opera Ball."

The brunet smiled softly. "You've got a deal, you good-looking _bastardo."_

…

England and Romano danced happily, smiling and speaking to each other in tones low enough that Prussia couldn't eavesdrop, even though Den could tell he was trying to do it. They danced a few times, too, but Prussia was obviously more intent on snooping.

"Everyone looks so elegant," he now said to Denmark, as they headed for the side of the room to rest and watch. "Romano was right. Formal events are beautiful, once in a while."

"I know." Den poked him. "Even if we had to go through all that bullshit before we could get in."

"Do you see my brother anywhere?" the albino asked casually. Den, being taller, could see better over the heads of the crowd.

"Nope," he replied, after a scan of the dance floor. "In fact I don't see any other nations at all, not even Austria. Which box is Germany in?"

"Uh – I – I don't know; he – he said just to wander around until we found it." The crimson eyes flicked nervously towards Den and back to the crowd again.

Hah! He was definitely up to something. Maybe he did cook something up with Germany, but…maybe he had some other dopey Prussia scheme in mind. Denmark narrowed his eyes but then tried to play along. He didn't want Prussia getting suspicious of his suspicions! He cleared his throat. "Well, if we don't want to talk to them, I guess it doesn't really matter."

"Hey, bastards, are we going to eat, or drink, or what?" Romano slipped between the two of them, leaving England leaning against the wall eying the beautifully-dressed crowd.

"Sure, yes," Den laughed. "I want coffee."

"Uh-oh," the others chorused. But then Prussia laughed and reached up to ruffle the spiky hair. "You can have all the coffee you want, dearest, since you have to drive us back home."

"Oh. Good point." Romano conceded this with an elbow to Denmark's side. "Let's go."

"Over this way!" Prussia flapped a hand and they wandered over, England pushing himself off the wall at the last second to join them.

"I haven't seen a single other nation so far, except Austria. Have you?" Den asked the others.

"Too busy dancing." England elbowed Romano, who snorted.

Prussia reached the coffeepot first and poured for all of them, handing out the elegant cups daintily. "Is Swissy here with him, or what? I don't even remember who he's dating these days."

"Pfft. Not America, I'm guessing." England snorted a little coffee. "I don't know what's up with those two."

Den scratched his head. "I heard America was going after Seychelles," he offered. "I don't remember who told me, though."

"That'd be bloody bizarre. Worse than Switzerland, I think."

Romano had ignored all this romantic speculation while staring up at the boxes full of glittering party guests. "I – uh – I suppose we'd better find the potato bastard and thank him for letting us in as his guests." He angrily rubbed a hand over his face. "I really don't want to talk to those two, but it's the polite thing to do, right?"

England handed his already-empty cup back to a server and gave his boyfriend an affectionate squeeze. "I don't care what anybody else says. You're so noble."

"Shut the hell up" was Romano's predictable response.

Den hadn't spoken since he'd started drinking, and the two bickering lovers suddenly realized he was staring at Prussia with his eyes narrowed. The albino had backed right up against the wall and had _his_ eyes squeezed tightly shut. "What's the matter with you, Gilbert?" England asked calmly.

"It's just – I –" He pursed his lips. "Let's go sit down somewhere. Out in the lobby."

"What? Why the lobby? Shouldn't we take advantage of Germany's box? Then we could thank him, like Romano wants to do, and rest quietly." The island nation gestured towards the boxes. "It'd be more comfortable in a box than the lobby."

Den kept his eyes on his boyfriend as he said, "That sounds more sensible to me."

But he'd forgotten about Romano's desire to avoid Veneziano. "No, bastard, no. I'm happy with the lobby for now. I need to work up my nerve." He craned his neck to look up at the boxes. "Which one is the potato bastard's, anyway?"

"Prussia doesn't know," Den said, very clearly, and this got through to both Romano and England, who stared worriedly at the albino.

"You don't know? You _don't know._ Gilbert, you are the most scatterbrained –"

"Oh, shut up about it, stupid." Romano grabbed England's arm and the four of them headed into the lobby.

Denmark shoved Prussia up against the wall; he could see that both the others stared at him wide-eyed, but he was sick of all this fucking around. "What's going on?"

And to his amazement his boyfriend caved in immediately, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn't say anything, but now they could all tell his was up to something. "I – I – I lied to Austria."

"To _Austria?"_ the Viking clarified.

"W-well, yeah, to Austria and you guys too."

"What was the lie, Gilbert?" England asked him kindly.

Prussia kept his eyes shut as he spoke. "I didn't talk to West. I know he'd back me up if he has to, but…I just said that to shut Austria up. A-and I lied about the tickets, when we were all outside. I came in here, but I had no idea what to do, and I heard someone talking about buying a box. I knew West would vouch for us, just so we wouldn't make a scene, but…I didn't actually ask."

Den blew out a breath. "Shit. So we're here under totally false pretenses."

"For _free,_ I remind you," Prussia retorted with a little gloat in his voice. He still didn't open his eyes, though.

"Free is not the point." The island nation began pacing back and forth in front of his friends, lecturing. "Now we have to steer clear of Germany, and Veneziano, because it's likely that Austria will say something to him, even if it's only 'Why did you invite bloody Prussia?'"

"We've been watching out for them anyway," Den told him, "but I didn't know why."

England cleared his throat and kept pacing. "But then, we also have to steer clear of Austria, because if he does have this little chat with Germany – which he's bound to do, once they run into each other – he's going to try to run us out of the party. Right?" He gave both Den and Romano very serious looks, and Den nodded.

Romano hadn't spoken this entire time, and Prussia still stood against the wall with his eyes shut. "Let me recap, bastards. Prussia sneaked us in here by telling Austria we were the potato bastard's guests. Which is a lie."

"Yes, that's the situation." Denmark spat this sourly. Was it worth breaking up over this? It _was_ a lie. Two lies.

But Romano amazed them all by stepping right up to Prussia and lifting an eyelid gently with his thumb. The crimson eye looked warily out at him. "So…we don't have to sit with my brother? Or your brother?" He sounded so hopeful that Den laughed. Yeah, it'd be all right.

Prussia finally cracked a smile. "That's awesomely right. All we have to do is _avoid_ them."

"And bloody Austria."

"And bloody Austria," the albino conceded, opening both eyes.

"You know, I love you," Romano told him, leaning forward to kiss him on the nose. "You're brilliant."

"Kesesese!"


	169. Vienna Opera Ball III

**Vienna Opera Ball III.**

When they went back in, a grey-haired woman in an iridescent white ball gown edged shyly up to Romano. "Excuse me, sir. I – I have no escort this evening. Will you please d-dance with me?" A blush spread all the way up to her hairline as the others turned to look at her.

Romano was always a gentleman towards women, they knew. He cocked an eyebrow at England, who shrugged and grinned. "It will be my honor," the brunet told her, bowing once before leading her to the center of the dance floor. Other couples took their places, and the sweeping music began.

"Bollocks." England shook his head in amazement as they began the dance. He hoped Romano wouldn't be servicing old ladies all night. This was already beginning to look like a less-than-perfect evening.

"Kesesese! It's not like he's going to ditch you for some Austrian lady, you know." They ranged themselves along the wall and watched.

"That's not it. I'm worried because he's right in the middle of the dance, now. What if Austria or bloody Germany sees him?"

"Oops. Yep, good point." Each of them scanned the area, relieved to see no danger, and then went back to watching Romano. He wore a sweet smile, the kind he usually saved for England and their quiet moments. _Bugger!_ Romano should be dancing with _him._

Prussia beamed at the dancing couple. "Maybe that lady will be so awesomely grateful she'll help us hide."

Den snorted. "Wonder why she picked Romano, anyway?"

"Because he's the best-looking of all of us." England, his eyes on the twirling half-nation, answered this with a sigh. He was so bloody lucky. Couldn't wait to hold his lover in his arms again for the next waltz…

"Are you nuts?" The Viking laughed out loud. "I'm the best-looking of all of us."

Prussia shoved him. "You are not! I am. I'm the outstanding white hair, crimson eyes. Blue-eyed blonds are a dime a dozen, just like West. America. Canada…need I say more?"

"Shut up, you conceited freak." Den shoved him back.

The two of them continued to argue about this, not quite getting into a shouting match, until England said quietly, "Austria's coming." Immediately they stopped, scurried behind a pillar, and gave each other pecks on the cheek with a little laugh.

"Where is he?" the albino asked, coming back from the hiding place.

"Pfft. No idea. I just wanted you bickering wankers to shut it."

"England, you're a dick," Den laughed. "Anybody want coffee?" He turned towards the tables.

"No, thanks. But you get some, if you like, sweetie." Prussia waggled his fingers in a coy little wave.

Denmark strode off, and the other two watched as the dance came to an end. Romano bowed once more to the lady, and she tittered behind her hand before curtseying and moving off into the glittering crowd.

When the brunet got back to them, Den suddenly reappeared with his coffee. "How was it?" he asked Romano with a grin.

"Poor lady. She just wanted to dance, you know? It must suck to be here without a date." He plucked the coffee cup from the Viking's hands and sipped from it. "Thanks, bastard." Both Prussia and England grinned at the expression on Den's face, but then Romano nearly spit the coffee. "Fuck!" He gestured with the cup. "Is that the macho potato?"

All of them whipped around to see a tall blond in uniform facing away from them, gazing slightly downward. "I bet he's talking to your brother, kesesese! Let's sneak off." Prussia led the way and they tiptoed through the party guests to arrive back at their starting point.

"Whew. That was close." England took the cup from Romano and drained the last of it, handing it back to Den when empty.

"Actually, it wasn't close at all," the Viking announced, scowling as he peeked into the empty cup. "That's not Germany."

Hesitantly they all looked and saw that it was indeed not Germany. "Shit, this is going to be hideous, running away from him all night," Romano grumbled.

"Don't worry! You're forgetting my awesome strategic expertise."

Den knocked the cup against Prussia's skull. "Pfft. Shut up. You're the one who got us into this mess." He gave it to a passing server. "Come on, let's walk around. I'm tired of hiding in this stupid corner."

"Bastard, we can't! What if they see us?" Romano's voice was a panicked hiss.

Denmark stood before them like a professor, wagging a finger. "Look, boys. Don't be stupid. Austria told us to stay on the edges of the dance, right?" He waited for their confused nods before continuing. "So, he thinks we'll be over here all night. If there is some kind of problem with Germany, this is the first place Austria will look! If we're on the move, he'll find it harder to pin us down. Got it?"

Prussia's jaw had dropped. "Wow, Den. You're almost as strategic as I am!"

"Yeah, yeah." The tall blond flicked him in the forehead and moved off slowly through the crowds, with the others close behind. England took Romano's hand, just to make up for the loss of time during the dance, and they smiled softly at each other. Yes, indeed. Romano was definitely the best-looking of all of them. The island nation beamed.

They wandered for a little while, always keeping an eye out for predators, but not seeing any. "I love this building," Romano sighed, running his free hand over a gilded pillar. "It's very elegant."

"Hey! It's Germany, I think," Denmark warned with a point. The four of them scattered silently to get out of the range of his vision.

Somehow Prussia and Romano ended up together on the side of the room. "Dammit. You're going to kill us one of these days, albino potato." But he was laughing.

"Kesesese! I know. Sorry. Where are Arthur and Den?" The two of them strained to find their friends, but couldn't. "Well, how about a dance, since we're way over here in the corner?"

"Hah. Well, all right. Just one dance. And none of your stupid shit!"

"Romano, I would never –"

"Just shut up and dance."

They shut up. They danced. Prussia smiled inanely at his friend, and Romano fought not to roll his eyes. It was bad enough that he had to dance with the bastard, but worse yet, Prussia was leading!

By the end of the dance, both Denmark and England had circled around to find them. "Now that's what I like to see," the island nation snarked as the other two ended their dance. "Peace and harmony shit."

"I hate you." Romano punched him with a smile.

"Don't hate me! Hate Gilbert – because I see Austria storming over this way."

"Fuck. Hurry!" Romano called out, snaking past partygoers into an empty hallway. The others automatically ran after him and he ushered them all into a broom closet.

"What are we doing in here?" England asked calmly, once the door was shut.

Prussia laughed and patted him on the head as best he could in this cramped space. "Hiding from Austria, kesesese! Right? Am I right?"

"Yes, you dumbass. I refuse to get thrown out of an event like this one, just because you were brain-dead about tickets. My reputation is already in the toilet from being friends with you. I don't want it to be any worse."

"Romano, that's so mean!" In the dark they could all hear a loud kiss.

"Dammit!"

"Everybody shut up." Den tried to turn around. "Why are we in the closet, though? This is pretty stupid."

"I agree; this is bloody childish." England opened the closet door and stepped out. "Anyone coming with me?"

Prussia and the Viking exited immediately, and the three of them turned back to their friend. "Dammit. All right. Just – just – whatever!" Romano threw his arms up in defeat.

"Let's just walk. He probably won't make a scene, you realize." Den took Prussia's arm and led them back to the main floor. "Man, my feet hurt already. I don't wear these shoes often." He waggled a foot as he glanced up at the boxes. "It might almost be worth putting up with Germany's lecturing, just to get some seats for a while."

"No" and "No!" from Prussia and Romano. England merely shrugged.

"You two are a couple of selfish babies," Den snarled. "Maybe I'll just go find the box myself."

"Don't go, Den. Please. Don't leave me here with these whiny gits!"

"Pfft. Oh, all right. Well, if I keep moving, my feet should feel all right. T. K., do you want –"

But before he could ask his boyfriend to dance, England interrupted. "Your lady's headed this way, Romano."

"Shit! I didn't mind one damn dance, but I don't want to be dancing with her all night long! Hide me!" He ducked behind Den, who pulled him around front again and, smiling, swept him into the dance. They waltzed away, Romano red-faced but laughing with relief. "Thanks."

"No problem. Hey, when you and England dance, who leads?"

"Pfft. We take turns. Tonight it's my turn." He smirked.

"That's nice. Prussia always tries to lead, and I always have to stop him."

"You're kidding. No, you're not, are you? That's so completely him."

"I know. It gets tiresome once in a while. When you danced with him just now, who led?"

"He did," Romano admitted sourly.

"Ha ha! No wonder he wanted to dance with someone else! Just to get the chance to lead." They peeked back at their friends.

By the wall, the two stood laughing and waving. "Well, Arthur? May I have this dance?" Prussia bowed to him.

"Of course, my dear Gilbert." England matched his bow, and they swept comically into a waltz, holding each other and clowning around a little, since they were hidden by most of the people there.

"Hsst!"

"What was that?" Prussia asked, sweeping England around dramatically.

"No idea." They checked and saw Romano scowling at them.

"Kesesese!" Just to goad him, Prussia dipped England down and kissed him.

"Gilbert, stop! You're hurting my back!" The blond struggled upright. "Just dance."

So they danced slightly more sedately, while Romano and Denmark kept struggling over who would lead, and the brunet continued to hiss at them to behave themselves. "Man, he is _so uptight,_ " Prussia laughed, spinning his friend. "How can you stand it?"

"Because he's only like that around you, wanker!" England pinched his cheek and they burst into giggles, giving up the dance and collapsing against the wall together.

Den and Romano scooted back when the music was done. "You dumb bastards. Why must you act like children at this thing?" The brunet put his hands on his hips like an angry housewife. "It's so fucking embarrassing."

"Oh, calm down. Nobody could see us!" Prussia poked the half-nation.

"I could, stupid! And if I could, so could a lot of other people."

"They didn't seem to mind." England put his arm around Romano and squeezed, trying to calm him down. "You looked good out there."

"Bullshit. Den's too tall for me to dance with properly." Romano smirked up at his friend. "But thanks for the rescue. At least I didn't have to dance with the albino potato again."

"No problem. Now what?"

"More coffee, I think." Prussia patted Romano on the head and got his hand smacked. "Ow."

"What the fuck do you expect when you pat me on the head like a fucking puppy? Come on and let's go get some coffee."

Halfway there England spotted a familiar dark head and yelped, pointing, "Austria! For real this time!"

All four of them hunched over and dodged behind other party guests to scurry out of sight. Someone stepped on Romano's toes, and he stifled a curse, but they eventually made it to the coffee table, where they tried to remain in hiding, get drinks, and also scan the room, which was an impossible combination. Den stood up first and hid behind a pillar. "Coast is clear. Which way was he heading?"

England straightened up and pointed. "Away from here."

Romano finally stood up and bumped the table with his ass, spilling an abandoned cup of punch down the back of his pants. "Dammit!"

"Dammit what?" Prussia turned to look.

"My _pants!_ " He grabbed a napkin and began blotting; England did too, patting him carefully.

"Don't worry, Romano! That's the joy of black clothing! It doesn't show the stains." Prussia nodded like a sage as he watched his friends take napkin after napkin to clean up the tuxedo trousers.

"You're an idiot." This halfhearted grumble was the best the Italian could do, preoccupied as he was.

"Hah, you got that right." Den finally turned from Austria-spotting and blinked. "What are you two doing?"

"Kesesese! You missed the show. It's all over now."

Romano threw his napkins back on the table. "This is a miserable night already. Running around, spilling shit on my pants…"

"Oh, come on, Romano, this is awesomely fun. A little ducking around won't hurt us, and your pants will be all right after a cleaning. We're still having fun! Come dance with me again." Prussia grabbed him by the arm.

"Bastard, my _ass_ is _soaked._ Forget the damn dance! I want my coffee."

"All right, all right. Dance later."

 _"Maybe."_

Denmark had finished pouring the coffee, and they each sipped, eyes wary for Austria (or Germany). England turned back to set down his empty cup and accidentally jostled Prussia's elbow. "Shit! Arthur! Now you spilled coffee all over my tux!" The albino slammed his cup onto the table. "Crap. My military ribbons are all wet." He grabbed a napkin and began blotting at them, then scrubbing, but the damage had been done. "I'm going to have to go rinse them, or they'll stain. Help me get these off, will you?"

He and his friends fumbled at the little ribbon-covered bars until all sixteen were cradled lovingly in Prussia's hand. "Where's the bathroom?" England asked. "I'll go help." Den pointed, and the two of them stepped away; someone else bumped them, and the military decorations went flying all over that part of the room. "Bugger!"

All four of them fell to the floor and scrambled to pick up the tiny ribbons. "I am not happy about this," the albino announced as he scooped them into his cupped hand.

Romano shoved him, nearly spilling the ribbons again. "You think _we're_ happy, stupid? First, my ass, now my fucking knees are getting all dirty!"

"Mine are getting sore," Den snorted. "I think this is the last one." He handed it to his irate boyfriend.

"Fine. Arthur, get off that floor and come with me. I'm making you do all the work."

"Fine, wanker. Whatever." The two of them trudged off towards the men's room.

Romano and Den watched them go, dusting off their knees. "This is a _really_ sucky evening, bastard. I was a little doubtful before, but this has set the seal on it. The albino potato has fucked things up once again."

"No kidding," Denmark hissed, grabbing him and yanking him behind a pillar. "There's Germany."

But again it was not the potato bastard who went by. "Is that guy his fucking double or something? Shit. M-maybe we should just blow, when those bastards get back. Go to the damn casino or something."

"It's still early, though," Den pointed out, checking his watch. "Not yet midnight. Plus you know how Prussia's going to gloat if we end up at the casino."

"I don't even care! I can't stand all this damn sneaking around." He peeked out again and squealed as he felt a tap on his shoulder. "Aah! You scared me," he panted to England. "Thought you were the macho potato."

"Hah." The island nation gathered him into a soothing embrace. "Just relax, little one. It will be over soon."

"Where's Prussia?"

"Still in the men's room, pinning them back on. They're soaking wet with water now, but at least they're clean." England laughed. "He didn't want me to help, in case I screwed something up again."

"Idiot," Romano murmured fondly, resting against him.

The albino came bustling up, clean and dripping a little. "Hey, why are you just standing out here in the open? There's Austria!"

In a group they scooted behind a clump of partygoers. "Dammit, get me out of here," Romano demanded. "I have had _enough."_

"Just one more dance?" England asked him sweetly. "If we go to the other side of the dance floor, near where we started, we should be able to hide, and if they come after us, we're closer to the door that way."

The others nodded. "Yeah. I – I'm sorry, you guys. I guess I wasn't such a good strategic planner after all." Prussia sighed, and Den took pity on him, putting an arm around his shoulders.

"Don't sweat it, T. K. Let's go over where England said, and we'll have our last dance and go." He turned to lead the group away and accidentally stepped on someone's foot. "Oh! Sorry."

The woman he'd stepped on was petite and had dainty strappy heels on; she must have taken his full weight on her bare toes. She clenched her teeth and growled, hopping on one foot. Her escort, a short, balding man, turned to Denmark belligerently. "You are a clumsy oaf!" he stated in a thick Austrian accent, making Prussia snicker.

"Hey, it was an accident, all right? It's crowded in here. Anyway, I said I was sorry." The Viking tried to push past, but the man reached out and grabbed his sleeve. "Let go!"

"Listen, you –" Without finishing his sentence, the man drew back and punched Denmark in the nose; the Nordic nation shoved him away and knocked him into someone else.

"Oh, shit," Romano moaned unnecessarily. "Run for it, Den!" He broke out of England's grip and pelted for the front door.

Against all his fighting instincts, Denmark knew his friend was right. He elbowed the guy in the gut, just for the fun of it, and ran after Prussia and England. Those two laughed and whooped as they did a type of genteel parkour between people, high-fiving each other over the heads of the other guests.

" _Scheisse,_ there's _Austria_ ~," he heard Prussia sing out, and they put on a burst of speed, erupting out the door of the Opera House with laughter, except for Romano, who was still panicking.

"Dammit," he wheezed, hiding behind a pillar. "What a fucking _night._ "

Prussia nodded. "But I have to go back in for my hat and cane."

"Leave them, stupid. You'll get an earful of shit from Austria if you go back in. They're beyond repair anyway."

"But that's littering. Besides, I want them as a memento of this awesome evening."

"Forget it, I said!" Romano, back on form, kicked Prussia in the shin.

England sighed. "I'll go. Austria might not yell at me, since I wasn't beating people up." He gave Denmark a meaningful glare; the Viking ignored it.

The three friends stood outside, getting their wind back and watching him walk back inside. None of them noticed the two nations in casual clothing slouching up towards them on the sidewalk.

"Ve! Hi, guys."

"Huh?" Prussia said, turning to his brother and Veneziano, baffled by their outfits. "I thought you two were at the ball?"

"We were going to go. Germany even bought a box! But this afternoon we decided to go to the casino instead. I won ten thousand Euros at blackjack, ve!"

"Dammit! You _fucking_ – _albino_ – _bastard!"_


	170. A Steamy Date

**A Steamy Date.**

"Sit on my lap, _tío_ ," Spain whispered to Estonia, in the back of the movie theatre. "Snuggle up to me."

The Baltic nation was astonished – but also kind of excited. "Everyone will see us!"

"Hah, no. They will be paying attention to the movie." Spain patted his lap. "Come up!"

Estonia hopped onto Spain's lap and did indeed snuggle close. Truth to tell, he'd been intensely sexually frustrated lately, to the point where he'd almost – _almost_ – phoned Hong Kong for a date. Common sense had stopped him, and he'd considered France for a while, too, before remembering that Spain, who was next on the list, had almost as great a reputation as the bearded nation. So he'd called, and tried not to sound too eager (desperate) while asking for the date. Spain had happily agreed, and here they were, nestled together in the back of a Madrid movie theatre. Estonia had even worn his standard uniform, because he knew it made him look trim. He'd hoped that would appeal to the elder nation.

He wrapped his arms tighter around Spain's neck and leaned closer in the dark. The brunet kissed him, and Estonia forgot all about the movie, his dating woes, and just about everything else.

…

Two hours later the theatre began to empty. Estonia felt a little woozy, as well as a little worried. Spain had kept an emergency packet of tissues in his pocket to clean them up after playing! But it had felt oh, so good, and he hoped he'd be invited to spend the night for more leisurely bedtime fun.

They stumbled out into the dark, packed streets of Spain's capital city, laughing and holding each other. Estonia pushed his glasses up his nose and smiled at his host. "Dinner now?"

"Yes, of course." Spain beamed at him. (Well. Spain beamed at everyone.) "You look so adorable in those glasses."

"Thanks?" Whatever! They joined hands and Spain dragged him off to a restaurant.

…

While they were eating they did have a nice, pleasant conversation about both his and his date's national festivals. General nation talk. Estonia felt comfortable, the food was delicious, and he was optimistic. These older nations really did seem to have a better grip on things. He sighed in relief and leaned back in the chair, removing his glasses to clean them.

"Eh? Eh, Estonia, put your glasses back on!"

That was…weird? He hurriedly put them back on. "Is there a problem?"

"N-no, it's all right, _tío._ " But Spain changed the subject and they spoke of the upcoming meeting in Japan, of various EU things.

Estonia began to worry a bit because this talk was oh-so-clinical. Where was the flirting, the seductive talk that Spain had murmured into his ear in the theatre? He tried to up the flirtatiousness, but for some reason (the public scene?) this maneuver fell flat; the brunet continued speaking of this and that, nothing in particular.

After the meal Estonia's hopes rose again. It was very late, and surely Spain would invite him to spend the night? He took his date's hand and snuggled up to him.

Spain pecked a kiss on his cheek. "Really adorable," he said, but he didn't sound convinced. "Shall we go to my house? You can spend the night."

Estonia grinned. He was glad his instincts had been accurate. "Sure. Love to." Hand-in-hand they wandered off towards Spain's home.

…

He reached for the bedroom's light switch but Spain stopped him. "We don't need lights, _tío._ Come to the bed. Let me undress you."

"Yes." Estonia put his glasses on the nightstand and allowed Spain full control for the rest of the night. And oh, it was just as good as he'd hoped.

…

In the bright Spanish sunshine the next morning he rolled over and hugged his date. "Good morning, snoozy," Estonia teased playfully, tickling his fingers through the dark hair. Spain smiled and opened his eyes, and when he saw Estonia in the bed he squeezed them shut again.

What? Surely he hadn't been so drunk that he'd forgotten who he was with?

"Please put your glasses on," the brunet requested.

Estonia, baffled, rolled over and fetched them from the nightstand. As he fixed them in place, he tried to sound nonchalant as he asked about this. "You've been very interested in my glasses all night. What's the issue?"

Spain sighed and rolled onto his back, hands behind his head. "You're really cute, Estonia, and I like how open and – and naïve you seem to be. But I don't think I can date you."

"Why on earth not? What did I do wrong?"

"It's not that. You were lovely, and I had a beautiful time with you. But – but – "

Estonia waited, holding his breath. Spain had a problem with nations who wore glasses? That was really petty.

"But you look so much like _Inglaterra_ that I just can't do it!"

" _What?_ "

"Don't you know how much that _maldito bastardo_ irritates me?" Spain was now grinding his teeth so aggressively that Estonia could hear it. "He stole my _tomatito_ from me! He's a pirate, a pirate that I loathe, taking everything that's mine, and when I look at you without your glasses – especially in your uniform – you look a lot like him. Not the ugly eyebrows, at least, but I just can't do it. _Lo siento_ , Estonia. I did have a really fun time, as long as I didn't look at you."

Pfft. How idiotic. "You're kidding, right?"

Spain turned to him with a frown. "Of course not."

"Hah. Well, that's never really going to change, you know."

"I know. It makes me a little sad, _tío,_ because we had so much fun, and you were so nice to play with, just like _Francia_ said."

France gossiped about their intimate times? Wow. Maybe Estonia should slow down a little. He didn't want to become known as the slut of the EU. "I guess I'd better go, then," he decided.

" _Sí,_ that would probably be best." Spain flapped a hand towards the nearest bathroom, still not meeting his eye. "There are towels and things in there if you want a shower." Then he did turn and look at the Baltic nation. "I really am sorry."

Estonia was already out of the bed and half-dressed. He wasn't going to hang around here a minute longer than he had to. Well, he was pissed off and rightly so! "If you ever grow up, give me a call," he snapped daringly, as he scooted out of the room, boots in hand.

What an idiot. He slipped on his boots and fled the house, waving for a taxi to take him to the train station. The hell with Spain.

...

 _Someone reviewed saying that only part of the chapter is visible. It looks all right to me in IE, but I've noticed in Edge it sometimes cuts off lines and paragraphs. If you are having a problem reading it, you may wish to switch browsers._


	171. A Nervewracking Date

**A Nervewracking Date.**

Just before he hit the "Send" button on the email, Estonia had a moment of doubt. Should he really ask Switzerland for a date? He knew the Alpine nation and Austria had broken up once again. What were the actual chances of long-term success with him? As Prussia had pointed out, those two were always breaking up with people and getting back together. Maybe Switzerland wasn't worth a date. Maybe it would be a great date and then he'd break up, wanting to get back with Austria.

Or maybe it wouldn't be a great date. Switzerland wasn't exactly known for his fun-loving nature.

Ah, Estonia decided to send the email anyway. If Switzerland seriously wanted to get back with Austria, he'd say no to the date, and that would be the end of it. And besides…Estonia hated leaving holes in his spreadsheet!

…

When he arrived at Switzerland's house, Liechtenstein answered the door. "Oh! Please come in, Estonia. _Bruder_ told me the two of you have a date tonight. That's so nice!"

"Hi, Liechtenstein." He came in and shook her hand in greeting. Too bad she was dating Iceland. She was totally adorable. He kept holding her hand and smiling at her until he heard a click behind him. Liechtenstein pulled her hand away gently as Estonia turned to see Switzerland pointing a pistol at him. "Ack!" He jumped back.

"Nice to see you," Switzerland grumbled. "Please don't molest my sister."

"Molest? _Molest?_ I was just shaking her hand!" But Estonia was already trembling like an autumn leaf before its fall.

"Don't worry about it," Liechtenstein whispered with a smile, sneaking out of the room.

Don't worry about it? Don't _worry_ about it? Oh, boy. What a bad idea this date had been. But he was committed to it, unless he could make Switzerland change his mind very fast. "Do you still want to g-g-go out tonight?" he managed, wiping his sweaty palms on his jacket.

Switzerland frowned. "Of course. Why would I ask you to come all this way and then say no?" He holstered the pistol and shook Estonia's limp hand. "There's a fair in town. I thought we could go there."

"I love fairs," Estonia blurted out. Well, he did. But – a fair? With Switzerland? He wasn't quite sure he could enjoy himself there.

"Then come on," the Alpine nation said abruptly, grabbing his hand and yanking him out the door.

…

The fair was enormous. Noisy, colorful – the Swiss people certainly knew how to celebrate. "What's the fair for?"

"Springtime."

"Oh. It's very nice. I like all the flowers around."

"Yes." Switzerland took his hand, and they walked on.

Estonia was enchanted by the fair. The smells and sounds of these sorts of things always caught his imagination. He held Switzerland's hand – not too tightly – and tried not to stare like an idiot at the riot of colors and people everywhere. "May we – will you ride the swing with me?" he asked nervously. But he did love those giant swings. He liked to look out over the land and think about how it used to be, before it had become so overdeveloped.

"Okay." Switzerland let go of his hand and they got in line for the swing.

Because Estonia was focused on the upcoming ride, he didn't pay much attention to his date; when they got to the head of the line he felt quite calm, and excited about the ride. He and Switzerland each got into a swing; he waved and smiled, and the Alpine nation nodded back at him.

The ride began to move. Ah, Estonia really did like this ride best of all carnival rides. He felt the wind in his hair, and gazed out over the spinning Swiss landscape, and – and then he remembered he was on a date with the redoubtable Switzerland, and panicked again.

No. He had to force himself to calm down. He could – he _would_ – break off any relationship that started to develop, because he was almost as nervous around Switzerland as he'd been around Russia. Estonia knew he couldn't deal with that on a long-term basis. But he'd have to try to be strong for the rest of the evening. After all, it was a fair, a festival – not a place to be frightened or tense. And he needed to make sure his date had a good time, too.

So, when the swing ride ended (and he'd spent most of the time on this introspection and not enjoying the ride), he was in a calmer mood, and smiled bravely at his date. "Did you enjoy it?" he asked.

"Yes," Switzerland replied, gesturing down one of the aisles filled with food vendors.

They got funnel cake and ate silently while they wandered the fairgrounds. Estonia thought that maybe India would like to visit a fair like this. They hadn't been spending much time together, but he knew he'd have a lot more fun with India than he was having tonight. Or Greece! He owed Greece an afternoon in Tallinn. He wondered whether Greece would be able to stay awake through a fair. "Hah," he laughed, snorting a little powdered sugar.

"What?" Switzerland flung his cake plate into a trash can.

Whoops. He'd forgotten about his date again! "Sorry, just got some – ah – some crumbs down my throat. Are you doing all right? You seem more silent than usual tonight." He held his breath.

"Just not used to being on a date with someone else," Switzerland grumbled, pulling his Luger out and fiddling with it.

Oh, double whoops!

"Instead of Austria, I mean," Switzerland continued.

"Oh. Yes, I know the two of you have been close for a long time."

But the Alpine nation changed the subject. "Let's go to the shooting gallery." Estonia had no wish to anger his well-armed date, so he agreed, finishing his cake hastily and following.

There were a lot of locals at the shooting gallery. The two nations waited their turn. When a space opened, Switzerland gestured to Estonia to go first. He stepped up, sighted with the carnival rifle, and took his three shots.

Not bad. Not outstanding, of course, but he'd done all right and won a little stuffed cow keychain. "This is adorable," he said, squeezing it.

But Switzerland had stepped up to the rifle to take his shots, and wasn't paying attention. "Be nice now," the carnival worker cautioned. Apparently they recognized him.

His date shot six times and when the last echo had died away, the only thing Estonia could hear was the screams of the carnival worker. He looked at the target: Switzerland had used his Luger, and not the carnival rifle, to shoot it! "Ah, ah – ah – Switzerland, thanks for the date, but I have to go!"

Estonia broke the speed limit by quite a bit, getting back to Tallinn that evening. Sigh.


	172. A Flirty Date

**A Flirty Date.**

Estonia's mood swings had become downright alarming. On the one hand, he was still angry at the White Rose, as he'd begun to think of the mystery nation, because there hadn't been a single indicator of interest since that Halloween kiss. And after his date failure with Switzerland – which he really should have been able to predict – he felt grumpy about relationships in general.

However, on the other hand, he'd mostly been having fun on all these dates, making new friends, and so even if he didn't end up with a lover, he'd still have a new crop of friends. Greece had indeed come to visit him one day, and they'd spent the time pleasantly lounging around his capital city, taking in the sights, and talking about this and that. (Greece had wanted to know whether Estonia would like a pet cat; he'd politely declined.)

So it wasn't a total loss. But there were times, as now, when he wondered just what the White Rose planned to do next. Maybe nothing. Maybe his kissing hadn't been up to snuff.

But he hadn't been _prepared!_ he wailed to himself, whenever this thought occurred to him. Surely if France had been gossiping about their lovemaking, it must have been noteworthy? His kissing couldn't have been that bad.

Drat that mystery nation.

…

Spreadsheet: Taiwan. Very pretty, very feminine. She'd been on the short list for the identity of the White Rose, too. He wondered, and watched her during this meeting, and decided to ask for a dinner date. What the hell. If she wasn't the one, then it might just be a friendly time, but if she was, they'd have some sharp words!

But not too sharp. He wouldn't want to scare her away.

The meeting was pretty dull. Nobody was paying any attention to Romania except his friend Bulgaria, and of course America, who had his elbows on the table, chin in his hands, gazing at the fanged nation with the most blinding grin Estonia had ever seen. Argh.

…

At the end of the meeting, he headed to Taiwan's seat. Yes, there were still a few others in the room, but that didn't bother him anymore; he felt practiced, and at ease. When he reached her, though, he had to turn his back to the podium, because America and Romania were locked in a clinch, kissing as if they hadn't seen each other for years. Bulgaria, apparently equally disturbed, ran out of the room with a scowl.

"Thank you! Yes, I'll have dinner with you." Taiwan packed up her notes for the day. "Do you have a place in mind?"

Estonia named one of the few restaurants he knew in this area. "It's not far. We can walk?" He was optimistic because she'd agreed so readily.

"Of course. Let me take my items to my hotel room, and I'll meet you in the lobby?" She smiled sweetly at him.

Raised voices made them both turn around. Oh. Belarus was smirking at her sister. Ukraine pushed past Taiwan rudely and fled the room.

Estonia turned back to Taiwan. "Yes, let's meet in the lobby." He wanted to get away from Belarus, too!

She nodded, and they left the room together.

…

Estonia didn't dare take her hand yet. "Do you enjoy these meetings?" he wondered. He was trying desperately to work up his nerve and ask about the roses, but caution prompted him to go slowly.

"I wouldn't say _enjoy_ ," Taiwan laughed as they walked down the street. "It's work. Not really something to be enjoyed."

"That's true."

"But I do like to see all the other nations. It was nice of you to ask me for a date. I'm far too shy to ask, since I don't know the European nations that well."

Hm. That didn't sound like she was particularly interested in him. But – ah! Here was a florist stall! A daring idea popped into his head.

Taiwan stood patiently by, while he bought a white rose from the stall. "For you," he smiled, presenting her with the rose.

She took it with raised eyebrows and a grin. "White roses are particularly nice," she agreed, affixing it in her hair.

Oh! What a good sign. But he'd still be calm and not leap to any conclusions. "It's one of my favorite flowers, too." He dared to reach out and take her hand, and she let him, smiling – was it a secretive, arch smile? Or just her regular look? He hadn't paid enough attention to her to know the difference. But he felt like he was on top of the world.

…

At the restaurant, they ordered wine and sat back to sip while they waited for the meal. "Have you ever been to my country?" she wondered.

"No. In fact, other than meetings, I've spent very little time in Asia." Estonia thought about this. "Only with – ah – Hong Kong." His voice slid into a mumble as these words came out. He hoped the time he'd spent with the clingy nation wouldn't make a problem for him and his White Rose.

"Hong Kong can be a bit pushy," she agreed with that secretive smile again.

The meal came, but Estonia barely tasted it. He was so excited he didn't know what to say or do, and he knew he was sitting there grinning like a brainless idiot, but he was almost positive Taiwan was the White Rose. They continued making small talk throughout the meal, but he had developed quite a few _plans_ for afterwards. For one thing, he wanted a long, cuddly talk about the whole rose-giving business. He'd like to hear what had motivated her, and why she'd been content to wait so long.

He'd totally forgotten his plan to berate the mystery nation for neglecting him.

…

After dinner he suggested a stroll around town, and she agreed. They joined hands again, and he walked close to her, smelling her faint floral perfume. "I don't remember what your Halloween costume was," he said vaguely. He'd been trying to remember, all night; reliving that mysterious kiss.

Still cozy against him, she glanced up with a small frown. "What Halloween costume?"

"At Romano's house. When you –" Common sense put the brakes on the rest of that sentence.

"I didn't go to Romano's for Halloween. I was busy that weekend."

Estonia's eyes grew wide and he stopped walking, shocked into silence. "Uh?" he blurted out, dropping her hand.

"Are you all right?" She reached her hand up to his forehead. "Estonia! Are you all right?"

He couldn't think. Couldn't do anything. She hadn't been at Romano's? Then she wasn't the White Rose. "Uh," he said again.

"Do you need to sit down?" Taiwan tried to lead him to a park bench, but he shook her off.

"I – ah – "

"Please, what's wrong?" She took both his hands but, panicking, he yanked them away. Her face fell, and the delicate frown disappeared.

"I'm – sorry," he finally told her. "I thought you were someone else."

"You _what?_ " Taiwan stepped back from him with a frown. "What are you talking about?"

But he couldn't go into it. His brain just kept chanting _Not Taiwan, not Taiwan,_ over and over, and he coughed out another "Uh" while trying to think of something to say.

She raised an eyebrow. "Estonia, you're weird. I think I'm going back to the hotel now. Thanks for dinner."

"I can – can walk you –"

"Never mind," she said, hurrying to the road and flagging down a taxi.

Estonia stood watching long after the taxi had gone, and then stumbled to the park bench, collapsing into it. If it wasn't her, then what?


	173. A Culinary Date

**A Culinary Date.**

Estonia skipped the rest of the meetings that week and went straight home. Then he got very, very drunk.

Oh, he was maudlin. Weepy and miserable. Why had he started this idiotic project? That was phase one of his drunken state. He lay around on the floor of his living room, swilling wine and cursing himself for even thinking of it. Damn those enticing spreadsheets!

Phase two was feeling sorry for himself. Why hadn't he been able to hit it off with anyone? N-no, he hazily told himself, he'd hit it off well with Canada, India, Greece – even Bulgaria and Hong Kong had been great dates to begin with.

He moved on to phase three. Forget the whole thing! Just be alone for the rest of his life, always rooming with Latvia and running away from Russia and his psychotic sister…Estonia drank some more and began crying. After all, what were the chances that Thailand, Turkey, Ukraine or Vietnam would be perfect partners? (And even though any of the four of them could possibly be the White Rose, he didn't even care about that any longer. It had been so long since they'd had any contact at all, and – and the memory of his night with Taiwan made him feel so, so stupid…) He sobbed some more, and lay down on the rug in front of his fireplace.

After another few drinks, though, came renewed determination. There were only those four more to go. Four more and he could complete the alphabet and his spreadsheet, too. And after that? "Screw the whole world!" he yelled, smashing the empty wine bottle in the fireplace. He hiccupped, and then headed to take a very long, very hot shower.

…

In the morning, much of his monologue had been forgotten, except for the resolve to finish the alphabet. He slept very late, until his hangover was completely gone, and then typed a rather casual email to Thailand, asking if he could come over and see Bangkok this weekend. If Thailand said no, he'd just stay home and try to get caught up on the work he missed. And he could just put a big fat X on Thailand's spreadsheet cell and forget about it. Frankly, at this point that was exactly what he expected. He did feel he was getting some kind of mildly unsavory reputation, and he really wouldn't have minded calling off the whole project, but he was a completionist, so he kept going.

Thailand's answer came back so fast Estonia worried it might be a joke. That nation would be happy to hang out with him on Saturday, and show him around his country.

Well. Estonia could be suspicious about this, or he could simply go. He waffled, but in the end he made the decision he'd known he'd make. This Saturday, he'd head to Thailand's place.

…

"Hello! Oh, don't bother coming inside. It's a great day. Let's go see the city!"

Estonia shrugged. "Okay. Where shall we go first?"

"Hmm. I think it would be nicest to show you…Rattanakosin Island. There are a lot of nice things there to look at."

"Great! Let's go."

…

For almost an hour Thailand, with his eyes sparkling behind his glasses, behaved as an expert tour guide. He showed Estonia all sorts of things in his capital, historic as well as modern. He'd left his pet elephant at home, and the blond was happy about that. Elephants in general were too distracting.

Soon they came to a little tea shop. "Let's stop and have some refreshment," Thailand smiled.

"I don't mind. I'm interested in the cuisine of all the cultures of the world."

"Oh! Is that why you started this project? It's fascinating. Someday maybe you could give me your notes. I'd like to try some kind of project like that, too."

Inwardly, Estonia snorted; he'd never give _these_ notes to anyone! "Maybe," he offered instead. They sat and he allowed Thailand to order them drinks and snacks.

"Which country would you say is your favorite? If you've reached the T's, you must have visited a fair number of them."

"Every country has its merits," Estonia said tactfully. Though frankly he wouldn't be heading back to Cuba or Cameroon anytime soon! "Your country is diverse and fascinating."

"Psh. Bangkok isn't indicative of the whole country. If you like, we can do a tour of the whole land, seeing the remoter areas as well?"

Estonia sipped his delicious iced tea. "Perhaps. Not this weekend, though. I haven't planned for a whole long trip." Caution was going to be his watchword from now on. No random nights of sex! No throwing himself at other nations!

"Oh, certainly not this weekend, Estonia. I've got things to do, you know." But Thailand smiled at him and nibbled on something.

"These are very tasty! What is this?" The Baltic nation picked up an unfamiliar snack, glazed and shaped like an insect. "It's very clever, how your cooks make them look like crickets."

Thailand laughed as Estonia crunched the delicacy. "It is a cricket! We eat them all the time here, deep-fried." Oblivious to his guest's rising horror, the host pushed a bowl of dip closer. "Try it dipped in this sauce. It's fantastic."

Estonia grabbed the rest of his tea to wash down the piece of cricket that he'd been chewing. "You're joking."

"I'm not joking at all. I thought you'd know something like that. It's all over the internet. I did a little research about your country before you got here – didn't you read up on Thailand?" He laughed and laughed at the blond's sheepish expression. "Ah, don't worry about it. Have another cricket."

"N-no, thank you, but I would like some more tea, please."

Thailand laughed and ordered more tea and some more snacks.

Well, that had been a bit disgusting, but certainly no reason to call off a date. Plenty of countries had weird cuisine, and now he could at least say he'd eaten them. Hmm. In fact, maybe he should be bold and try some of the other snacks on the table (though they all looked like bugs) just to be more manly, so he could trot that out in conversation someday.

When the new tea came with new plates of fried insects, he sipped, and then grabbed a giant bug that turned out to be _maeng da._ "Urgh," he said, washing them down too. "What on earth was that?"

"Ha ha! The _maeng da_ is known for its strong flavor. It's a – giant waterbug?" Thailand thought about this while Estonia tried not to gag, finishing his entire new glass of tea in record time. "Yes, I think that's what you'd call it." Here he noticed the empty tea glass. "More tea?"

"Yes, please, and – and where's the men's room?"

Thailand directed him there, and he escaped. All the tea was threatening to burst his bladder.

Right. There was no reason to be squeamish about eating bugs. Thai people did it all the time! He'd bet a lot of nations did it. So, he could be a man about it. Of course, he would not eat any _more_ of them while he was here, but at least he wasn't about to vomit up the ones he'd already eaten.

Urgh. Just that thought made him feel queasy. He washed his hands and hurried back to Thailand, hoping they could get on with the city tour.

But his host was reclined in a chair, lazily eating handfuls of insects. "Everything okay?"

"Yes, thank you." Estonia sat down and began to sip his third glass of tea more carefully. "More snacks?"

"Yeah, I got tired of waiting around. I love this place. Here, look." He pointed to a bowl. "These are all right. Just slices of melon with a little cinnamon."

"That sounds very nice." Estonia took one and nibbled on it, gazing around the area, beginning to relax. "What will we do next?" he asked. It was past lunchtime, and so he decided to top up on the snacks instead of asking Thailand to stop for lunch separately.

"Oh, I don't know. Let's wait until we've finished our snacks." Thailand ordered more melon and some other fresh fruit.

Good idea. Estonia was still hungry.

The snacks came; they ate, speaking of Thailand's national festivals and then the Baltic ones, drinking and enjoying the hustle and bustle of the area.

Eventually the plates and glasses were empty. Estonia looked at his watch and was amazed to find they'd spent three hours at this unassuming little place! "I'm going to the rest room again," he decided, not wanting to be sightseeing and looking for a bathroom at the same time.

"Okay. I'll wait here." Thailand waved to him as he headed off.

The snacks hadn't been too bad. He'd been cautious enough to ask about each one before he tried it, though things like mango and peach were pretty obvious from the way they looked. Thailand, though, had crunched down veritable mountains of insects with various dips and sauces. Estonia had to metaphorically tip his hat to his new friend. It couldn't be easy, eating them all the time.

When he got back to the table he was amazed to see a new assortment of dishes! "What's all this?" He stood by the chair.

Thailand raised his tea glass in a toast. "Sit down! Sit down. These are some different things we haven't tried yet."

Estonia sat down, but he wasn't happy. "Are you planning that we'll just stay here and eat all day?"

"Don't see why not." The host lazily stirred his iced tea. "It's tasty, and comfortable. Why? Do you have a problem with it? I can take the leftovers home to Toto."

"I – I thought we'd spend more time sightseeing!"

"Oh. Well, I guess we can do that some other time. Have some more tea." The brunet reached over with the pitcher of iced tea and poured some for Estonia.

"Ah, thanks, Thailand, but if I eat or drink any more I'll burst. I need to walk around, get some exercise."

Thailand shrugged. "Suit yourself. Stop by here if you're passing this way again. I'll see you! Thanks for coming over!"

With that, the host turned his attention to the plates on the table. The nonplussed blond rose from the table and began to slowly walk away, darting looks back at him, but Thailand never glanced his way.

Not wanting to wander the city on his own, Estonia simply headed for the airport, still sloshing a little. What a waste of a day.


	174. A Roaring Date

**A Roaring Date.**

"Estonia!" Turkey yelled, when he opened his front door. He _yelled!_ Even though Estonia was standing right there?

He might as well get into the spirit of things. "Turkey!" he yelled back, laughing.

"Boy, am I glad to see you! I need a diversion." Turkey's voice got marginally less loud, and he stepped outside. "Come on! Let's go see downtown Ankara." He grabbed Estonia by the hand and started dragging him down the street, keeping up a monologue the whole way. "I know we'll never get to see the whole thing, but we can start at one end, and if you ever come back, we can pick up where we left off! Yeah? Right!"

Estonia laughed and hurried to keep up. He'd already known he wouldn't want Turkey to be his boyfriend – his loud conduct at meetings was amusing, but the Baltic nation knew he himself couldn't put up with that roaring confidence in a lover all the time. He needed someone quieter. But he'd been bored and annoyed about nation things (as well as needing closure), so he'd phoned up Turkey to have a fun afternoon. And here they were.

"Get in the cab!"

"Okay!"

…

Their first stop was a statue of Kemal Atatürk. "Very famous," Estonia knew. "Even as far away as my country, we know of the important reforms he put forth."

"Yes! He's the Father of the Turks, you know!" Turkey tilted his head back to look at the statue. "He's totally awesome!"

"I know," Estonia laughed. "Come on. Show me something else."

"All right!" Turkey adjusted his turban and strode off, leaving his guest to scurry after him.

…

A whirlwind tour of ancient digs later, Estonia was definitely feeling the pain. "How on earth do you stay so energetic?" he wondered aloud.

"Coffee! Turkish coffee!" Turkey beamed at him. "In fact I'm overdue for some. Let's go."

The blond nodded, but remembering the bugs in Thailand he became determined not to eat any unknown food. They hurried off to a small café.

But he had no need to worry. Turkey ordered them coffee, yes, but also fruit and yogurt. "I have a ton of food that other nations find exotic," the host nation told him, "but I don't like to scare visitors away with anything too weird right off the bat! Ha ha!"

Before Estonia could respond, Turkey drew out a camera and flagged down a waitress. "Yes?" she asked.

"Could you take a picture of me with my friend Estonia?" he boomed, shifting their chairs closer together.

"Of course, sir! It would be my honor." Turkey put his arm around his guest and the two of them smiled into the camera as the waitress took the picture.

When she handed the camera back they peeked at it. "Good one! You look good in pictures, eh?" Turkey clapped him on the back.

"I want some coffee!" Estonia laughed, picking up his cup.

Together the two new friends drank coffee and ate fruits dipped in yogurt. "This is the perfect summer meal," Estonia decided.

"Don't I know it! It's awesome!"

Feeling bold, the visitor decided to ask a question. "Do you ever calm down?"

"Not much! But seriously, no. I mean, why bother? I'm loud and proud!"

"I can see that," Estonia grinned, and Turkey burst into uproarious laughter.

"I like you! We should hang out more often. Got a meeting coming up in China. We can find some fun restaurants or something. Go up on the Great Wall, maybe have a picnic?"

"Sounds okay to me." Though if either Ukraine or Vietnam worked out as a date, he might not be that free to socialize with Turkey. He was planning to call Ukraine for a date before that China meeting, and if she wasn't the White Rose, well…it had to be Vietnam, didn't it? So he'd ask Vietnam when they got to the meeting in China. Ah, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. For now, he'd enjoy his day with the masked nation.

Several cups of coffee and short discourses on Turkey's tourism later, the two of them got up for "Phase two!" Turkey picked him up in a giant bear hug. "I feel even more exuberant than usual, today. Wonder if that's your influence?"

"I doubt it." Estonia adjusted his glasses; they'd been knocked askew by the hug. "I'm not a very exuberant guy."

"But that's really nothing to do with it. Prussia's exuberant, and he doesn't get me wound up like this. It may just be that I'm overexerting myself to impress a guest?" Turkey took off his turban and scratched his head, and then put the headgear back on. "Well, whatever. Come on! Let's go see something."

"All right!"

…

At the end of the day Estonia had to admit he'd had an awful lot of fun. As a host, as a tour guide, Turkey was enormously entertaining. They'd gone to almost every corner of the city, seeking out interesting places, getting food from street vendors and stopping for coffee every now and then. It was almost midnight, and Estonia felt like he was going to drop.

"Hang in there. I'll get you to the airport."

"Thank you, Turkey. Not just for that, but for the amazing day we've had. I learned so much!"

"Yep! My place is a fun place. Not like Greecey," he said with a bit of venom.

But Estonia defended Greece's place too, since they were friends.

Turkey accepted it in good grace. "Eh. Maybe. Still, you've got good memories of my home, now! You'll have to come back sometime!"

"I'd love to, Turkey – once I recover!"

The two of them laughed tiredly together as Turkey drove to the airport.

"Take care," he boomed out, hugging the Baltic nation. "See you in China."

"See you there!"

Estonia boarded the plane and collapsed into a fitful sleep. A fun day! Productive and exhausting. He had a ton of notes to make when he got home.


	175. A Fumbling Date

**A Fumbling Date.**

Estonia adjusted his tie and glasses, pacing around his living room. Tonight he had a dinner date scheduled with Ukraine. She'd hesitantly requested that they dine in Tallinn, instead of at her place, and that suited him just fine.

He was quite agitated, for a number of reasons. First of all, it was possible that Ukraine was the White Rose. That would be – interesting. She met all the criteria: shy, didn't use the Western alphabet, and had been at Romano's Halloween party. There was a very good chance she was the one.

Second of all, he was worried about her connection with Russia. Of course she'd understand his particular dislike of her brother, because she and Estonia did know one another somewhat, from those times under Russia's roof. But she was apparently still on good terms with Russia, and that could make a relationship difficult for the Baltic nation.

Last, but by no means least, he was – well – he was downright nervous about the possibility of a physical relationship with her! He'd never been with such a _girly_ girl before. Estonia preferred boys, or slim women like Bela—like _Liechtenstein_. Ukraine was very curvaceous, and he knew a lot of men loved that look, but he didn't. He wasn't quite sure how he'd fare, if they got as far as the bedroom.

He paced some more. Yes, he was nervous, but he was also intrigued to see what happened tonight. He'd do his best. It would be kind of sad if she turned out to be the White Rose and then the date was a complete failure due to something gauche on his part.

…

"H-hello," Ukraine said nervously, when he answered the door.

"P-please come in," he invited, opening it wide and extending a hand to her. She did look striking tonight, in a sleek-but-not-tight red dress that hugged all her bounteous curves, and high-heeled black shoes. Ukraine carried an elegant black handbag and wore sultry makeup as well. The overall glamorous effect was somewhat spoiled, he felt, by the pink plastic bow clip in her hair, but, whatever. "Was your trip all right?" He drew her into the living room, where he'd set up a little mini-bar on a side table.

"It was n-not bad, I suppose." She smiled at him, her expression somewhat wobbly. "I took the train. It was – was nice to see the countryside."

Whoo, boy, Estonia was nervous, and it sounded like she was too. "May I mix you a drink?" This was the only thing he could think of to say.

"Thank you," she nodded, walking meekly into the center of the room.

He barely paid any attention to what he was mixing, and hoped that she'd like it. Estonia mixed one up for himself, too, a splash of this, little of that.

They clinked their glasses together in a toast before drinking. The taste barely registered with him, as agitated as he was; he knocked the whole thing back in one gulp. But it must have been bad. "Oh, Estonia, this drink is much too strong!" Ukraine began to cough, but instead of covering her mouth politely, she crossed her free arm against her chest. What for? Oh…to stop the bouncing? Estonia nearly choked.

"I'm so sorry," he blurted, taking the glass from her and drinking it all himself in a panic. At that point she did raise her other hand to her mouth, continuing to cough.

"Forgive me," she whispered, biting her lacquered lip, after the coughing had subsided.

Estonia felt a little sloshy from having downed two drinks in quick succession. "Let's go to the restaurant," he suggested wildly, at a loss for what else to do.

"Yes, of course." Ukraine took his proffered arm and they went out to call a cab, both a little unsteadily.

…

The cab ride was uneventful. Estonia kept dithering about taking her hand, reaching for it and then withdrawing. His head was slightly muzzy and in the end he decided it was better not to take it. Ukraine was staring out the window of the cab, tapping her fingers against her handbag. At one point the handbag fell on the floor of the cab and both of them awkwardly reached for it, knocking their heads together. "I'm - I'm so sorry," Estonia mumbled.

"It's all right." Ukraine bit her lip.

When the cab pulled up to the restaurant, Estonia stumbled getting out, but managed to catch himself on the car door before falling flat on his face, which would have been possibly the most miserable thing he'd ever done on one of these dumb dates. He righted himself, straightening his tie, and turned to help Ukraine out of the cab. She had to maneuver herself in a funny way to fit through the door opening, but she finally got out, swaying a little. Estonia paid the cab driver and led his date into the restaurant.

"Good evening, Mr. Von Bock," the hostess said, smiling at him. He'd made reservations here and asked them to specifically seat them _not_ at a secluded, intimate table, but out in the open. He would feel less pressured to be sweet and seductive that way.

The hostess led them to the table. Estonia pulled out the chair for Ukraine and she sat down, staring around the place with an excited expression on her face. "This is a very nice place!"

"Thank you. It's one of my favorites." He checked the table, and yes, the vase with white roses was there. He'd asked the restaurant to specifically take care of that for him. Feeling much calmer, he sat down, and Ukraine sneezed. " _Terviseks_ ," Estonia added.

"Thank you." She picked up a napkin and blotted her eyes with it.

"H-have you been to any Estonian restaurants before?" He wanted to call her attention to the white roses, but not blatantly. He had to think about how to do this.

"No, I haven't. I suppose many of your dishes are similar to mine, or to my brother Russia's?"

Estonia shuddered. "I suppose they may be." He handed her a menu. "Would you like wine?"

"Yes, please."

So he chose a wine from the list before returning to his own menu. Ukraine sneezed again, but this time she crossed her arms over her chest and sneezed all over the table! "Bless you," he offered again.

"S-sorry. I don't know what – _oh!_ " She gestured towards the roses. "I'm allergic to roses. Could we get the waiter to take them away?" She sneezed once more, spraying germs again, because her arms were tight around her body.

Estonia fought a snappy and nasty retort and called the waiter over, and he took the vase away.

…

After the halfhearted meal – during which both of them had stammered, blushed, and (in Ukraine's case) coughed a bit – he suggested a walk. This was a very bad date, but he still didn't want her going home thinking badly of him. She might say something about it to Russia, and then where would he be? So Estonia exerted himself to be very nice to her and offered his arm as they walked.

Despite her high heels Ukraine seemed to be comfortable. At least physically. They walked together in the dark without speaking much. Estonia could feel her – her _bosom_ rubbing against his arm. It was distracting and frightening. He really hoped Ukraine didn't want to go to bed with him! But then, what if she told Russia that Estonia hadn't wanted to sleep with her? Really, he was probably damned if he did, and damned if he didn't, so he decided not to bother. He kept up a river of small talk as they wandered.

The colder air made Ukraine press closer; Estonia began to babble. She sneezed again, letting go of him to brace herself. "E-Estonia, I'm so sorry. I thought it was the roses at dinner, but I suppose I'm actually coming down with a cold."

This could be his saving grace! Nobody would expect him to take advantage of a woman with a cold. "Would you like to go home?" he asked nicely.

"I think that might be best. Thank you."

He waved to a taxi, which took them to the train station. Ukraine gave him a quick peck on the cheek before boarding.

"I had a nice dinner," he lied.

"M-me, me too." She turned to board the train and he watched her jiggle as she climbed the steps. Soon she was out of sight.

Estonia turned to go home. Of course he was torn up about the White Rose – but on the other hand, Ukraine _not_ being the White Rose was a great relief! He went back home, whistling and jaunty despite the late hour, and fixed up his spreadsheet before bed. The China meeting was in two weeks, and Vietnam would be there.

While lying in bed trying to fall asleep, he planned an entire rose-festooned date before realizing roses might not be readily available in China. Ah, he'd do his best. Make a paper rose or something, if he couldn't get real ones.

He fell asleep with a smile on his face, having completely put his Ukraine date out of his mind.


	176. Art Contest I

**Art Contest I.**

Romano lay under the tree, plucking grass absently with his right hand, trying to close his ears against the nonstop albino babbling. Why the hell had he even come out here today? He was still pissed at the bastard about that Opera Ball bullshit. Denmark had telephoned later and boasted of having beaten Prussia senseless, but the Italian hadn't believed him, because he could hear the stupid happy "kesesese"-ing in the background during the phone call. Still, it wasn't as if he had anything better to do. England was off helping China with something, and Romano hadn't felt like jaunting halfway around the world just to watch those two tea-drinking bastards goofing off. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Blab, blab, blab," he interrupted.

"Shut up." Prussia threw his empty coffee cup, but it failed to reach Romano, who kicked it aside.

"Moron. Why are we hanging around here? Let's go do something. Come on, Den, think of something!"

"Why do I have to think of something? I thought _you_ were the brains of this outfit." Poke.

Swat. "I am." Romano snorted. "Just don't feel like thinking, right now."

"Why don't we go play paintball?" Prussia suggested.

Nobody answered him; Den continued to sip coffee, and Romano to pluck grass and fling it away.

"Kesesese! I know. Let's go to the mall and buy some new clothes." The albino glanced down at his old t-shirt and torn jean shorts. "My wardrobe is crap."

"You owe me sixteen thousand Euros," the half-nation countered lazily, closing his eyes and resting his clasped hands on his stomach. "After you pay me back, we can talk about getting you a new fucking wardrobe."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"That's how much the tickets were," Den yawned. "To the Opera Ball. Romano and I decided we're not going to listen to any of your suggestions until you reimburse us for our troubles that night."

"And," Romano put in, before Prussia could come back with some smartass ( _dumbass)_ response, "maybe for England, too. So, forty-eight thousand Euros between him, Den and me."

Prussia groaned, squeezing his skull in his hands. "That's such bullshit. Where am I supposed to get that kind of money?"

"Germany?" Den's suggestion met with a general laugh.

"Hah, he won't even give me money to get my tux dry-cleaned! It still has coffee all over it from where Arthur spilled it on me."

"Serves you right, moron. You ought to pay for my dry cleaning, too, to get the punch off my pants." Romano yawned, too. "Listen, if we stay here I'm going to fall asleep. Let's go walk somewhere."

"Okay." Den jumped up and extended a hand to him, and they headed off without even waiting for their friend.

"Hey. Hey!" Prussia scrambled off the ground and ran after them. "Sheesh, you two are acting like a couple of teenaged girls, giving me the silent treatment. Stop it. It's not cool at all." He poked them both.

"Whatever." Romano jerked his chin down the busy main street. "Let's go this way for a change." Despite his lingering anger at Prussia, he was kind of having fun with all this. It was very surprising to see the albino potato meekly taking all these insults.

"I have an idea." Den turned and grinned down at them both. "Let's have a contest."

"What? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Kesesese! Whatever it is, I bet I'll win."

How could this dumb bastard be so fucking optimistic all the time? So full of himself, and with no good reason. "Bullshit. You'll _lose_."

Denmark began to laugh. "You bozos don't even know what kind of contest I'm talking about. What if it's dressing up in costumes and singing?"

"Pfft. Did that, remember?" Romano's eyes grew misty as he remembered the Austrian talent show night. They'd been so damn amazing –

"Okay, then, Mister Badass Viking, what kind of awesome contest are you talking about? Fighting?" Prussia bared his teeth in an eager grin, and wiggled his eyebrows.

"No. That'd be idiotic. I'd win."

"Both of you shut up! I want to hear what Den is talking about." Romano flicked Prussia on the ear.

"Ow. Okay, talk, Den, talk."

"Well, here's what I'm thinking. Our next meeting is in Finland, right? I'll talk him into hosting an art competition between all the nations. So, yeah, we'd be competing with everybody else to win, but we could also privately compete with each other."

"Make a bet, then," Romano mused. He wasn't worried! He had excellent art talents. "But can you really talk Finland into that?" He cut his eyes to the albino potato, who looked distinctly nervous. Hah!

"Sure. Fin likes to do group things like that."

"Are you any good at art?" The brunet realized he had no idea at all.

"Of course I am!" Den elbowed him and they laughed together.

Prussia still hadn't spoken, and seemed to be concentrating intently. "Okay," he finally said. "What does the winner get?"

"Forty-eight thousand Euros," Romano and Den said in chorus, before laughing and linking their arms together.

 _"Scheisse!_ You two really annoy me sometimes."

"Don't go there, albino potato. You really do not want to go there."

Prussia sighed. "I'll take that bet, _if_ you can make Finland offer a cash prize."

They stared at him. "Fin's not going to give you 48,000 Euros!"

"He's not going to give Prussia anything, bastard, because I'm going to win!"

"No, I am!"

"I am, moron!"

"Both of you shut up!" the Viking bellowed, cracking their skulls together.

"Ow."

"Yeah."

"We weren't serious about the 48,000 Euros," Denmark then pointed out. "I don't want to end up paying _you_ that, if you should happen to win."

"He won't win," Romano muttered, but low enough that they could ignore it.

"Well, then? What's the awesome prize?"

"Don't know yet. Let's walk and think. We can come up with something later on. After I talk to Finland."

"Sounds like a plan to me, manipulative bastard."

"Kesesese! Yeah, I can live with that, too."

…

 _This arc was a plan to have readers submit Skirmish Brothers-themed artworks on deviantArt, but nobody did._


	177. Art Contest II

**Art Contest II.**

England scowled at the canvas before him. He'd like to wring bloody Finland's neck! An art competition? Bugger. He hated this kind of shite. All his art talent came from pilfering other nations' styles over the centuries. He was completely unsure about this.

Well, he knew he'd never win it, so he wasn't going to try too hard. It'd be difficult to accomplish anything with that blasted self-satisfied humming coming from across the room.

…

Near the window, his back to the island nation, Romano sat at a table humming, with a watercolor pad and his palette beside him, ideas sparking through his Renaissance brain like cool, fizzy water. He'd suggested to England that they work on their art entries at the same time; this way they could be together, and maybe lend some support to each other. Combining England time with art time was almost as pleasant a prospect as Romano could think of. Maybe if he had some tomatoes, it would be even better! "Hey, bastard."

"What?"

"Do you have any tomatoes?" He laughed a little.

"No, I do not have any bloody tomatoes! Why? Going to paint a still-life?" He turned to look at his friend.

"Nope. Stop asking about what I'm going to do. Just paint."

England growled at him. "I don't know what to paint. I don't even know if I want to paint. Does it have to be a painting?"

Romano stopped and sucked on the back end of his paintbrush as he thought. "No. Just 'art.'"

"Right. Maybe I'll do a finger painting."

"Bastard, you're not taking this seriously enough!"

England got up and walked over to him, bending down to hold him. "Listen, git. I don't want to do it and I have no hope of winning any sort of competition. I just want to wallop something onto the canvas and then go do something fun with you. Come on. Just swish some color around on there, and let's go outside for a while."

"What?" Romano was completely taken aback. "No! I have to do this. _You_ may not feel confident in your art, but I stand a pretty damn good chance of winning, if I can do something right." Damn right he did. He had to beat those dumb bastards Prussia and Den, too. _Had_ to!

England sighed and let go of him. "Fine. I'm going to go out for a walk. I hope you get good inspiration." He ruffled Romano's hair, giving him a quick kiss, and was out the door before the brunet could say anything.

Well, he had time to work, so he would work!

…

Denmark sat in his living room, using tweezers to assemble his art project. He knew no one else would think of something like this. It had been his fun with Legos that had made him think of it, but using rye grains to build a map of Europe was definitely more challenging, and more artistic. He laughed a bit as he imagined some dorky sloppy painting that Prussia would do, and how this rye art would blow everyone away.

…

Prussia was the most awesome artist in the world. He knew this, even if Finland didn't. But he wasn't going to exert himself too much for this contest. After all, he didn't care if he won the whole competition. He just needed to beat Den and Romano.

That was a little worrying. Oh, not the Denmark part. Pfft. Den would probably make a giant Lego robot or something. But Romano –

The albino had been to Italy quite often over the centuries, and he knew full well the skill that Romano (and his brother) would bring to this contest. That was the whole problem. Gah. Why had Den suggested an art contest? Romano was likely to blow them both out of the water and win the grand prize! And if he didn't, his brother might. Denmark should have suggested hunting, or something. Prussia knew he could bag some big game, certainly more effectively than Romano could!

Still, he only had to beat Den, right? As long as he didn't come in dead last, it was all good.

Well, there was still plenty of time to work on a project. Prussia decided to go to the water park with West and forget about the whole competition for now. He could use the time to think about some type of artwork, while they played. "Come on, West, shake a tail feather! It's an awesome day."

"I know," came the amused voice from the kitchen. "Just let me finish my coffee." In a moment his brother emerged and the two of them headed for the water park. The stupid art project could wait.


	178. What if they had an art contest and

**What if they had an art contest and nobody entered?**

"Well, this sucks!" Finland yelled, toying with a Molotov cocktail.

Denmark eyed it warily. "Will you put that damn thing away? Nobody wants you blowing up the meeting hall!"

Sweden nodded and took it from his boyfriend's hand, putting it in a safe place.

"Where is everyone?" Prussia then asked, with a quiet "kesesese" tacked on the end.

"Th't's the pr'blem."

God, Romano was beyond pissed off already, and it was only Monday morning at eight, the start of the whole damn week of meeting shit. "What's the fucking problem, bastard?" Dammit, would they just get on with it? He was so angry, because England had decided not to attend, since he hadn't been able to come up with anything artistic. He'd felt too embarrassed, apparently, to show up empty-handed.

In fact this whole room was suspiciously empty! Other than Finland, Sweden, and the other two bastards, only the quivering Latvia and the stupid potato bastard were here.

"Nobody else is coming!" Finland whined. "Everyone called in sick!"

"Everyone?" Prussia turned in his chair and checked out the room. "Awesome! We don't really need to have a meeting, then, right?" He rose and gathered up his things.

"Sit down, Prussia," Germany said wearily. "We still have business to conduct."

" _Scheisse,"_ the albino potato moaned, head in hands. Then he sat up cheerfully. "So I guess the art contest is off, then?"

Romano smirked. He knew he'd win, anyway. But – but if these, uh, seven people were the only ones who'd submitted art, then…?

"No." Finland gestured towards a side door. "Although I did not get many submissions for the contest, I did set everything up in the next room, like a little gallery. Why don't we all go look at them before we start on the meeting?"

Sweden nodded again and led the way.

Just outside the "gallery" door, Den turned to his friends with a big, big grin. "Double or nothing?" he asked.

"Stupid! We didn't decide what we were betting in the first place!" Romano kicked him in the ankle.

"Ow. Stop that. Uh, I thought it was 48,000 Euros?"

"Den, you know none of us have that kind of cash." Sheepishly Prussia stuffed his hands into his pockets.

Hah. Guess he knew his art would suck. "How about 48 Euros?" Romano offered. "Manageable."

"Double or nothing is 96, though. Can you afford 96 Euros, Prussia?"

He turned to the macho potato. "Hey West, can I have 96 Euros?"

With a sigh Germany ran a hand over his severe hairstyle. "Yes, Prussia, you can have 96 Euros."

"Each, bastard. _Each._ "

"You guys are horrible!" Prussia shoved Romano, who shoved back, and they scuffled a bit before Den grabbed Prussia's collar and Sweden grabbed Romano's. "Sheesh."

"Shut up and get in the room," Den barked out, shoving Prussia ahead of him.

Finland was already inside waiting impatiently. "Well? Come in!"

They all walked in, even little Latvia, cowering at the back of the group. "Where's all the art?" he piped up.

"We put it in the far corner since there was so little of it."

Denmark practically danced over there, but Romano and Prussia followed the crowd more sedately. "What's up with you anyway?" the brunet hissed. "Afraid you're going to lose?"

"Yes. I didn't submit anything. Couldn't think of a damn thing."

Romano burst out laughing. "Ninety-six Euros, bastard!" He held a hand out.

"Forget it! Den might win!"

"Well, if he does, he's not letting you off the hook." They finally caught up with everyone else and viewed the submitted artworks. "Only four things?"

Sweden cleared his throat delicately. "Fin 'n' I didn't think we sh'd submit 'nything."

"Awesome!" Denmark yelled, turning to bare his teeth at his friends.

"Hah. Look at them first, you moron."

So they looked.

First, a paint-by-numbers picture of the Gedächtniskirche, done by the potato bastard in sloppy acrylics. Pfft.

Second, Romano's beautiful watercolor of the sunset over Dartmoor. He was so pissed at England for not being here to see it! He'd sketched it during their failed camping trip all those years ago, and had always held the memory of that lovely place in his mind. This painting was large and glowing with rich color and the love he'd put into it. And the stupid, stupid idiot (adorable though he was) wasn't here to see it! Dammit. Well, it had to rank higher than Denmark's – Denmark's – "Uh, what the fuck is that, bastard?"

Everyone bent over a large table with some kind of sculpture on it. "Ta-da! It's a map of Europe, made with rye grains. I laid them all in place by tweezers." The Dane beamed proudly upon his creation…

…for about four seconds, until both Prussia and Romano burst into laughter. Even the potato bastard cracked a smile! "Den, that is just idiotic," the albino potato managed to wheeze.

Romano, bent over and peering at it, pointed out, "I notice he didn't make Prussia a separate country," which made Germany laugh and clap his now-peeved brother on the back.

"Thought 't w's kind 'f int'resting," Sweden told them all, fluorescent light glinting on his glasses.

"You're kidding. You're _kidding!_ This dumb bastard's rye toast map gets the prize?" Romano slid from hysterical to furious in one easy step, punching Denmark in the (very solid) bicep. "You have _got to be kidding!"_ He felt himself hyperventilating. Dammit!

"No, no." Finland hastily tried to placate him. "Calm down. Denmark's map is cute but we didn't give it the prize. First prize goes to Latvia's beautiful flower arrangement!"

Everyone turned to view the blushing Baltic nation's entry, a cheap milk glass vase with a few limp daisies in it. "Th-thank you," he stuttered, reaching out to take the prize from Finland.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Romano exploded. "I can't believe this! Come on, you two; it may be early but it's five o'clock somewhere. I've got to get drunk. This is insane. _Insane!_ " he yelled right into Sweden's face. Then he stormed out of the gallery, a disappointed Germany slouching behind him.

"Wait." Prussia stopped Denmark from following. "What was the prize, Latvia?"

The trembling nation looked at the paper in his hands. "A check for forty-eight thousand Euros!"


	179. or not

… **or not.**

"Actually, that is just a joke!" Finland gently plucked the fluttering check from Latvia's hand and passed it to his boyfriend.

"Whaaat?" the other three chorused. Sweden cracked a smile at that.

The host nation then picked up a box of something from the table. "Here is the real prize, Latvia. A box of Finnish chocolate."

Latvia, face burning, took the box. "Th-thank you?" he quavered, not meeting anyone's eyes.

Sweden lay a hand protectively on his shoulder. "Thank _you,_ " he stated clearly.

The little nation just took the box and left the room. At the door he turned back to the stunned Prussia and Denmark, who were still speechless. "Are we h-having a meeting today?"

Finland laughed. "Let's call it off for today. Be back tomorrow at eight, though!" He kept laughing until Den clocked him on the side of the head. "Ouch! _Denmark!"_

"What the hell is going on here?" he asked, dumbfounded, rubbing his knuckles. What the hell _was_ going on?

"Uh...yeah?" Prussia added weakly. "I think I missed something."

"Ah, Prussia, you are not thinking straight!" Fin waggled a finger playfully in front of the albino's face while the rest of them stood around. "Who asked me to have an art contest?"

"Well, Den did, I guess. At least he said he would." The baffled Prussia scratched his head.

"Yes, he did. And he also told me you would be betting on the outcome."

"Denmark! You cheating _bastard!_ " Prussia turned to him and began to pummel him; not expecting this, it took the blond several seconds to retaliate, and by then he'd taken quite a few hits. "How could you cheat like that? Wait until Romano hears – _ow!_ " This as Den landed a punch right on his nose. "Ow…" He immediately stopped fighting and backed off, straightening his uniform jacket.

"Anyway," Finland went on airily, as if none of that had happened, "Sweden and I immediately decided that none of you would win, no matter how good the art was!"

"Pfft. Romano's was the best," Prussia muttered sulkily. "Not that rye grain shit." Den shoved him, but he ignored that.

"I agree. But we're trying to teach Denmark to stop betting!"

Den blinked. " _What?"_ Suddenly the whole ridiculous situation got through to him. "You and Sve are a couple of meddling, high-handed, annoying – "

"Who pushed us into an art contest, Denmark? Who was pushy and high-handed? Who told us about the 48,000 Euros?" Fin grinned at him and backed away a little. "We were just having some fun!"

"So does this mean Romano gets the check?" Prussia cut his eyes to it, where it now lay on the table with the rye grain map.

"'S a fake check. J'st typed t'look like one."

"So…Romano should get the _candy_?" Den didn't know whether to beat the shit out of Fin (risky, with Sve standing right there) or laugh.

"There will be a special prize waiting for Romano in his hotel room."

Prussia and Den eyed each other evilly. "Kesesese! Let's not tell him. Let's go out with him all day and see what happens when he gets back to his room."

"Sounds good to me." Differences forgotten, the two of them linked arms and sauntered from the room. At the door, Den turned back. "You two really are a couple of interfering bastards." But Finland's high, tinkling laughter followed them all the way out the door.

…

Outside the hotel Romano stood tapping his foot and scowling. "What took you idiots so long? I saw the potato bastard and Latvia leaving. Does that mean no meeting?"

"No meeting," Prussia agreed, hugging him. "Your art was the best, Romano. Way better than Den's map."

He reached up and ruffled the white hair. "Pfft. I agree. Thanks, albino potato."

"You still lost, though, Prussia," Den pointed out. "Since you didn't enter."

"That's okay. I'll get the cash from West later on."

Romano hit him. "Forget it, you stupid idiot. It's pointless if you're just taking money from him. It's supposed to be a _sacrifice."_

"Never mind all that. Are we going to get drunk? Kesesese! That'd be awesome. It's not even nine in the morning yet!"

"Ah, I was just irritated when I said that. I can't believe that little bastard got the prize."

"Well, it was better than Germany's painting!" Denmark laughed and laughed. "That was the weakest painting I ever saw."

"At least the macho potato entered the contest." Yes, Romano was still steamed about the lack of England this week.

But Prussia thought this was a dig at him. "Hey, look. I just happen to suck at art, okay? Next time let me pick the bet, not Rye Boy."

"Pfft. No food nicknames, and nothing with 'boy,'" Den laughed. "But all right. Next time you can pick the bet."

"Bullshit! The moron will pick paintball, or some other shit I'm not any good at. I get to pick."

"Maybe we should enlist the services of a neutral party. Arthur would do it, I bet."

"Forget that!" Romano explained how pissed off he was about that. "I am so angry with that loser."

"Oh, forget it, everyone just forget everything we ever talked about, and start with a blank slate. Okay?" Den put his arms around his friends. "Today started out shitty. Let's get some coffee and make it better."

"Deal," the other two muttered.

…

The three of them spent the day wandering around Helsinki, shopping, eating, arguing, and generally complaining about their fellow nations, which was, after all, what the three of them did best.

Eventually Romano got tired. "I'm going back to the hotel," he said wearily. "My feet hurt. I want a hot bath and _bed._ Especially since we have to do meeting shit tomorrow."

Prussia and Denmark grinned at each other, wondering what Finland's "special surprise" would be. "Sounds good," the albino said calmly. "We'll go with you. I'm kind of tired too."

"Hard to believe." But this was said without Romano's usual venom. He must be really beat.

After exiting the hotel elevator, the three of them plodded towards his room together. "Why are you idiots following me?" he snarled, as he pulled the keycard out and slid it into the door.

"Just want to make sure you get to your room safely," Denmark said soothingly. "Since England's not here to look after you, we have to do it."

Romano shoved the hotel room door open, snapping out, "Listen, I told you, England is a goddamn selfish bastard and I don't want to talk about him!"

"Eh?" they heard from the bed.

"Arthur?" The three of them scurried into the room to see Romano's striking watercolor, framed and hung over the bed, on which the island nation lay, naked except for a big red Christmas bow around his groin. "Kesesese!"

"Will you wankers get the bloody hell out of here!"


	180. Jumping to Conclusions

**Jumping to Conclusions.**

Estonia was so happy today. He'd get to spend time with the pretty Vietnam, take in a little local sightseeing, find out about the white rose business…yeah. Everything was going to be fantastic, a great conclusion to a long time of searching and failing. He hurried down the hotel steps and into the conference room, his eyes seeking hers.

Oh boy. She was already seated, right between Macau and – and Hong Kong! That meant he couldn't flirt with her during the meeting. If Hong Kong thought the flirting was for him –

So Estonia got his Chinese breakfast and sat at an empty seat, near Cyprus. That nation was holding Canada's hand. They'd been together for a very long time, he realized. Over a year now. That made him sad, but when he remembered the White Rose mystery was solved, he cheered right back up again. It had to be Vietnam. Had to!

China started the meeting.

Estonia didn't pay much attention during the morning half. He archived the spreadsheet, spent time on Wikipedia reading about Vietnam's country, darted his eyes to her from time to time. She was doing a very good job of focusing on the meeting. He might almost believe that she wasn't interested in him at all. Talk about a poker face!

At the lunch break he planned to ask her to dinner, but then China decreed that they would work through lunch and try to get the whole day's agenda finished earlier in the afternoon. Ah, that would be fine too. More time to be together at night.

So the meeting went on.

Estonia, trying to impress her, now participated with great vigor. He could tell people were surprised at this: even America and Romania stopped petting and flirting with each other and stared worriedly at him every time he spoke. But he felt strong and confident, and their combined regard didn't stop him from offering sound opinions and wise solutions.

…

The meeting did end early. Nations poured out of the room, laughing and joking. Estonia waited nervously to make sure Hong Kong would be out of earshot, and when he was gone, the Baltic nation crossed to Vietnam and sat in the chair by her side. "Hello," he smiled, making his voice rich and deep.

"H-hello? Estonia, isn't it?" she asked.

How playful. "Yes. Will you have dinner with me tonight?"

Her eyes widened. "Oh, I couldn't possibly do that! Hong Kong would be exceedingly angry with me!" She turned bright red and leaped out of the chair, grabbing all her things and running out of the conference room.

Estonia simply stared after her with his mouth agape. Eh?

Several seconds later he realized what an idiot he must look like. Depressed beyond measure, he sank his head into his arms, down on the table, taking shaky breaths. All he wanted now was for the remaining nations to leave the room, so he could sneak out and go be ashamed in his room. Alone.

The entire alphabet! The _entire alphabet_ and no partner! He vowed never to look at another spreadsheet again. And the stupid White Rose…had that all actually happened? Maybe he'd dreamed it all. How stupid, how stupid…Estonia just wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

And then he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. "Are you through now? You've gone through the whole alphabet, I know. I – I've been waiting for you. I'm – so sorry it took me this long to get my courage up."

Slowly, disbelieving – _that voice!_ – Estonia raised his head from the table, seeing a white rose in a strong hand, looked up further to meet the blushing, intent face of the nation who had spoken. _"You?"_


	181. The White Rose

**The White Rose.**

Estonia blinked in amazement. Hadn't he just felt a hand on his shoulder? "But – but – "

"Are you angry with me?" Bulgaria asked quietly, with a nervous expression on his face. He sat in the chair next to Estonia and gently set the rose on the polished bamboo tabletop. "I – I know this was probably not the smartest way to handle it, but I didn't know what else to do. I don't – don't have a lot of experience with, ah, with romance." This came out in a trembling whisper.

"N-no, I'm not angry at all!" Truthfully? He was completely amazed. "You – ah – but you –"

"Will you go to dinner with me? I'll explain everything you want to know."

Estonia looked at him. Really looked. And he could see that Bulgaria was completely serious, and very fearful. Well, who wouldn't be? After all this?

And yet, Bulgaria, who didn't like to be touched, had just touched him! Bulgaria had once _kissed him!_ Estonia was suddenly burning with the need to know all. "Yes, please," he smiled, trying to encourage the Balkan. "Let's find a quiet place where we can talk. I have so many questions!"

At that, the sweetest smile graced Bulgaria's face, and his gloveless hand reached out to lightly stroke Estonia's cheek. It felt like the warm, velvet petal of a rose caressing his skin. "Thank you. Thank you for giving me a chance." He affixed the white rose into Estonia's buttonhole and they left the hotel together.

On the way to the restaurant, Estonia's mind was a whirl. Bulgaria had said he'd known about the alphabet project. How could that be? He'd never mentioned it to anyone else.

The two of them walked slowly, their hands clasped together. They'd agreed to save all the discussions until they'd been seated in a restaurant, so neither spoke as they proceeded. Estonia wondered whether he could lace their fingers together. Darting a quick peek at his date, who smiled back nervously, he began to do this, and felt a big weight off his heart when Bulgaria eagerly opened his fingers and allowed it. He squeezed happily, and so did Bulgaria, and Estonia knew that no matter what weird explanations his new – new _boyfriend!_ – would give, everything would be fine.

…

"I liked you so much, Estonia, up until you kissed me. I – I'd read a lot about your country and culture before our date, and it sounded like a very interesting place, quite different from mine. I also knew you had a sort of – well – a thing about Russia, you know, a – a fear thing, and I have that too. I didn't expect it to be a bonding point, but at least if I freaked out around him, I knew you'd understand. He's part of the reason I don't like to be touched.

"That night we spent together – our date – everything was just as good as I'd hoped. You are so intelligent, Estonia, and so beautiful to look at; your voice is sweet, and – well – everything about you made me very happy, right up until you kissed me."

"I'm so sorry about that. You're so very handsome yourself, and I just – just – " Estonia didn't know how to explain the depths of his desire for Bulgaria back then. Didn't want to scare him away. Yes, apparently the brunet had touched him _(kissed him!)_ , but he didn't know how far that new physicality actually went.

"Please don't distress yourself. When I got home that night I was still panicking, but over the next week or so I was able to calm down about it. By that point I was just angry that you hadn't listened to me. The actual touching, k-kissing, I had gotten over." Bulgaria grinned ruefully. "Had to admit to myself that I'd liked it. It was flattering, you know, that you couldn't keep your hands off me."

Estonia smiled too. Maybe someday he'd tell him about the way black leather always looked so sexy, or what he'd wanted to do with the Belgian chocolates…

Bulgaria cleared his throat and continued. "I started letting myself – _forcing_ myself – to think about what it would be like, to seriously be with you. There was no one else I really wanted. So I sent you the flowers that first time; I thought that would buy me some time to work up my nerve. I – I didn't realize you were going through a list of nations, yet, at that point."

"H-how did you find out? I never told anyone."

"Simple observation. I had hoped you'd be free, when I finally got the courage to say something, but you kept going out with others. I saw you with Egypt, then France, then Hong Kong, and then at a meeting you asked Japan for a date. It was fairly easy to see that you were on some kind of alphabetical mission."

"I guess you think that's dorky." Estonia felt himself blushing; he plucked at the hem of the white linen tablecloth. The waitress brought their meals, and they began to poke the food around on the plates, neither wanting to interrupt their conversation just yet.

When she'd gone, Bulgaria spoke again, shrugging. "If that's what works out for you, then who am I to judge? It just made me a little sad. I couldn't decide whether I should interrupt your progress or let you keep going. There were a lot of nations in the alphabet, between Japan and Vietnam."

"Why didn't you interrupt?"

Bulgaria sighed. "I – I thought there might be – there probably _was_ – some nation you'd like better than me. Someone you'd find true – ahem – true love with, more easily." He cleared his throat nervously. "And I wanted you to be happy."

Estonia's eyes burned, so he blinked a few times to keep the tears from falling. He reached out a hand and the brunet took it, and for a moment they simply held onto each other quietly. "Tell me about this," Estonia whispered. "Tell me how you are able to hold my hand?"

"I felt like an idiot, you know. Romania's the only nation I spend a lot of time with, and he knew all about my phobia and he was always careful not to touch me. But I kept thinking about being with you, and I knew you'd never bother dating someone you couldn't touch. So I – I asked Romania to help me. I hope you don't mind."

"Mind what?"

"Well, we practiced by holding hands, at first. And I got to a point where I was casually touching him while we talked, or whatever, though I still had my gloves on. But then I knew that if I ever did get to be with you, holding hands wasn't going to suffice, right?" He smiled. "So Romania helped me learn how to kiss. We – we practiced until I was comfortable with it. I do hope you're not offended by that."

"How could I possibly be offended?" Estonia smiled too. "You took such bold steps, and you didn't even know if we'd end up together. I'm actually quite honored, Bulgaria. More than you can imagine." He blinked a few more times. This brave nation's attention was filling in all those lonely places in his heart, all those places that had been neglected for so long. Estonia just wanted to hold him close and never let him go.

Bulgaria's answering smile was sweet. "That's why he went to the bathroom."

"What?" Well, that had certainly broken the mood.

"Romania! When we were at Romano's house for Halloween? He made sure you would be alone, and then he went into the bathroom and used some magic to make all the lights go out, so I could sneak up and k-kiss you." Bulgaria's face was bright red and pleading.

"M-magic?" Not that Estonia believed in it. But then how did the lights _just happen_ to go out at the correct moment? "J-just so you could kiss me?"

"I was so terrified," Bulgaria confessed. "Scared the lights would come on too soon, and you'd be upset that it was me."

"I wouldn't have been upset. Worried, maybe, because Romania was my date, and I wouldn't want to embarrass him by kissing someone else. Or maybe I'd just have been confused," he laughed. "I'm – I'm glad the lights didn't come on. It would have been awkward for both of us."

"Yes." Bulgaria squeezed his hand again, and then they let go and tried to focus on their meals. "Are we –? Will you date me now, Estonia?"

The Baltic nation looked up from his untouched salmon and smiled. "Oh, _yes._ I can't think of another nation I'd want to be with more," he confessed. "That would be wonderful." Embarrassed (because he didn't really have a lot of experience with romance, either), he took off his glasses and polished them with his napkin.

Bulgaria leaned close and planted a shy little butterfly kiss on his ear. "Thank you, _Estonija_. Thank you so very much!"

Estonia put his glasses back on with a grin and reached for his companion's hand. When he was sure no one else in the restaurant was watching, he lifted it to his mouth and kissed Bulgaria's fingers, watching the blush spread across his boyfriend's face.

Oh, it had all been worth it. Every failed date, every awkward humiliation. "Forget this dinner. Let's just pay them and go."

"Yes," Bulgaria grinned, throwing a couple of bills on the table and rising. "Come on."


	182. Animal Attraction I

**Animal Attraction.**

"Erm, so, listen, you guys." Prussia scratched his head. "Come and stay over tonight. I have something for us to do tomorrow, but it will take all day." He was on a conference call with both Denmark and Romano. "But, ah, don't tell Arthur, okay, Romano? Just us?"

The brunet growled. "So I have to spend the whole night _and day_ tomorrow with you and not tell England? Why? Why can't he come with us?"

"Yeah, Prussia," Den said laconically.

"It's, hm, just going to be too crowded, that's all. We have to do some stuff for West. Not a big deal."

"Shit."

"Oh, shut up, Romano. Just deal with it. It's not like we have anything better to do," the Viking laughed. "But, T. K., you'd better make it worth our while."

"I will! I awesomely will. I have plenty of beer and cupcakes already, and I can get whatever Romano wants."

"Hah. Liquor. I want to drink myself senseless so I don't have to listen to you, or do your dumbass work shit."

"C'mon, Romano. You know you love him." Den laughed and laughed, and so did Prussia, listening to the muttered Italian grumbles on the line.

"So? Will you come over?" Prussia bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. "It's gonna be fun!"

"Wait, just wait, bastard. This business for the macho potato – is it _with_ him, or _for_ him?"

"Uh. Well, it's a job he usually has to do every other month. He and I take turns. But he has some municipal stuff to do in Berlin, so I said I'd take his turn this month. It's going to be great! I'll bring his camera. We can make videos!"

"Whatever. What time do you want us there?"

"Kesesese! You can come over anytime. He's at his computer, and I bet we won't see him tonight. He'll be grinding away on those idiotic spreadsheets all night. Then he'll get up at the crack of dawn to get to the meetings. Totally not a problem."

"Okay. Are you going, Den?"

"Might as well. Got nothing better to do."

"See you soon, then, albino potato."

"Awesome!"

…

The three friends had a lazy night, not too much fighting, not too much drinking. Prussia wouldn't tell them what the 'job' was until the next morning, though. "You're sure you didn't tell Arthur?"

"What the hell could I tell him? You haven't even told _me!_ Why? Is this some secret Germany-UK treaty bullshit?" Romano poured coffee and finished it all very quickly.

"No, no. West and I do volunteer work at a local pet shelter. West asked Arthur to help him once – oh, a long time ago, more than ten years ago – and it was apparently kind of weird." He frowned a bit.

Laughing, Denmark poked him. "Weird how? He too lazy to work?"

"No! Well, actually, I've no real idea. He just said 'Don't let England near the place.' So I won't."

"Whatever." But Romano was a little nervous. He _had_ told England he'd be hanging out with these bastards in Berlin, but since he hadn't known what the special job was, hadn't been able to spill the beans. He just hoped England would stay put on his cold, foggy island for the day, and not get him in trouble with Prussia – or the potato bastard! He bit his nails, ignoring the rye bread on the table.

"Kesesese! Eat up, my friends." The albino pushed a plate of hard-boiled eggs towards them. "It's a busy type of day."

"What kind of shelter?" Den stuffed an egg into his mouth after asking this.

"Mostly dogs, with some cats. It's very cool, right on the banks of the Spree River. There's a huge field where we play with them all day long." He beamed.

"That's it? Playing with dogs and cats?" Romano's mind was still on England and how the bastard might have fucked this up. "How weird could it be?"

Den ate another egg. "Hope there aren't a lot of pit bulls."

A shudder from the half-nation. "Don't even suggest that, bastard. When do we have to be there?"

Prussia checked the clock. "Ah, we really need to leave now. Here, Den, put the eggs into this bag, and we can finish them in the car." All three nations scrambled to get ready and leave.

…

"Wow, this is really a nice park." Denmark stretched, and Romano could have sworn the bastard was ten feet tall. Dammit, he was huge! He snickered a little and tried to punch him in the abs, but as usual, it was like hitting a slab of cement.

"Ow." He massaged his hand, laughing.

"Quit that, pipsqueak."

"Come over here!" Prussia flapped a hand, running towards the shelter. "We have to let them out, and then we can play with them." He and the shelter worker began opening dog cages.

"What are you doing?" Romano yelled. "You can't let cats and dogs out here together!" He ran over as fast as he could.

"Oh, it's not a problem," the worker said, mistaking his anxiety. "There's a fence all around the property."

"No, no, no!" He began to freak out. "What if the dogs start attacking the cats?" He stared piteously at a tiny ginger kitten all alone in a cage.

"Hah!" The albino potato slapped him on the back. "Not _these_ cats," he laughed. "These cats are tough."

Romano pointed to the kitten. "Look at that! How can you put a kitten like that up against a huge Rottweiler?"

"We don't have any Rottweilers at the shelter," the worker informed him.

Dammit, did everybody have to be so fucking pedantic? "I'll protect the kitten," he announced, reaching for it. With a few little peeping mews, it settled into his cupped palms before he raised it up onto his shoulder. Now purring, it settled down like a furry epaulet. "There. Stay calm, _quello piccolo,_ " he murmured, reaching up to pet it. "I'll protect you from the nasty potato dogs."

At that, three dogs – of what breed he was unsure – bounded past him into the field. "Woohoo!" Prussia yelled, bounding after them, turning a few exuberant handsprings. "I love shelter work!"

Well, Romano had to laugh. He and Den each tried to herd a few more cats while the shelter lady left the rest of the excitable dogs out.

"I'll be back at four," she called out, locking the gate behind her. "Have fun!"

Prussia, now rolling around in the grass under a pile of barking dogs, didn't hear, but both the others did, and waved.

…

Romano loved cats, but this was nuts! Every time he sat down in the field, the seven or eight shelter cats came swarming towards him. Prussia, still romping with dogs, told him, "It's just because they're jealous of your kitten." The kitten had indeed stayed smugly perched on his shoulder all morning, occasionally meowing, but mostly just purring.

"Den, come get these cats off me," he called out, but his friend had the camera and was busy snapping photographs at the water's edge and didn't hear.

In a few minutes he came back to them. "This is an awesome place. Did you see all the herons and storks around here? Bizarre. I always thought they preferred marshland."

"Take a cat," Romano told him, trying to shoo a couple cats towards him.

So Den sat, and a cat or two came to investigate, but then they wandered back to Romano, climbing up on his knees, kneading their paws against his chest, and meowing constantly, perched around him in a circle. "Dammit," he muttered, trying to pet all of them at once. "I feel like some kind of human sacrifice!"

"Like a rock star with cat paparazzi," Den agreed with a grin.

The albino potato finally struggled out from under his enormous pile of dogs. "Hey, boys," he whistled, scrambling up and running towards the water. "Come over here and do your business!" The crowd of barking dogs ran after him, each one finding a tree to mark. Prussia, to keep in the spirit of things, unzipped his fly and pissed into the river.

"What an idiot," Romano groaned, still trying to be nice to all the cats.

"Yeah, but still. There's nobody like him in the world."

"Thank God for that!"

When they were all done peeing, Prussia brought the dogs back a little more sedately. "I did see the herons and storks. They hang out here all the time. It's almost like a nature preserve for marsh birds, but I don't know why. West is always coming down to take pictures of them, and he brings buckets of anchovies to feed them. After dogs, storks are his favorite animal." He flopped back on the grass and was almost immediately covered in a squirming, yelping canine pile again.

"I've got to see these dumbass birds." Romano stood up gently, dislodging all the cats except his shoulder accessory, and padded calmly towards the water. He didn't notice the parade of cats trailing behind him, but Den did, and hurriedly raised the camera to make a video.

"It's like the Pied Piper of Berlin," he laughed.

"Just so he doesn't lead them into the water! Or let them chase the birds! Kesesese! West would kill him if he ever found out."

"Those cats would have to be pretty stupid to take on a heron or a stork."

But the brunet and his squadron of cats marched back to them without wreaking any havoc on the masses of water birds. "That's a lot of storks, bastards." He flopped back down in the grass, carefully avoiding his feline escort.

"Hey, is it lunchtime yet?" Den asked, rummaging around in the backpack. "What do we have to eat?"

"Fuck," the albino said cheerfully. "Other than the eggs, which we ate in the car, I forgot to bring anything. Everything in the backpack is dog food and cat treats."

At the words "dog food," all the dogs left him and went to swarm around Denmark, who stood up holding the backpack so he could keep fishing through it. "You didn't bring any real food at all?"

"Just the eggs!"

"Which we ate already. Dammit." Romano glanced upwards. "Hey, Den, throw me a pack of cat treats. Might as well feed these potato cats." Several of them seemed to give him reproachful looks at this comment. "Sorry, guys. Just a habit I have," he apologized, making his friends roar with laughter.

Denmark threw down a pack of treats to him. "Here you go. Prussia, what about the d-o-g f-o-o-d?"

But these were apparently very smart dogs, because they set up a crazed barking when he spelled that out. The albino rose and took the backpack from his boyfriend. "Come over here. We can feed them over on this side of the park and give the cats some peace."

"Take the goddamn cats with you!" Romano yelled after them, still sitting in a ring of them. Some were busy cleaning themselves, some napping, but most of them sat attentively watching him – or, more likely, watching the treats bag. "Okay, bastards. Here." He opened the bag and poured some treats into his hand, holding it out to the nearest cat, which turned up its nose disdainfully. "What? No go?" He reached his hand around to every cat in the circle – even the sleeping ones – and not one of them took a single treat from him. "Well, _piccolo_ , guess these are all yours." He held the handful up to the kitten, who sniffed it and leaped down off his shoulder to go chase a butterfly.

Baffled, he absently shook the treats back into the bag and zipped it shut, scanning the park for the others. Ah. Prussia had led them off behind some trees. Good. He wanted to take another look at the marsh birds.

So Romano got up, now no longer a focus of the felines' attention, and sauntered over to the riverbank. All the herons and storks – and, dammit, there was a fucking _mess_ of them, maybe fifty – turned their heads to look at him. Dammit, that was creepy! He turned and fled, trying not to step on any cats as he ran, and checking over his shoulder to make sure no birds were following.

The cats all seemed to be hunting insects or something, so he found a quiet place facing the water (so no birds could sneak up on him) and sat to wait for his friends. Seconds later he was covered in cats again. By this point he figured it was some bizarre affinity between them – maybe they liked his pheromones or something (he snorted) – and this was the way things would be for the rest of the day. "Fine, _gatti_ ," he said softly. "Let's just all be calm together." This wasn't the way he'd have planned a stay at the shelter, but at least he wasn't dealing with the damn noisy dogs!

On the other side of the park, Den realized they had no dishes for the dog food. "Ah, don't worry about it. Just dump it all into a pile and let them fight for it. They're all big dogs, and they can awesomely look after themselves!" Prussia laughed, patting some of them.

"That sounds risky. What if they start attacking each other?" All the dogs sat down abruptly, and Den could have sworn that they all put angelic expressions on their faces. "What?"

"Kesesese! Never mind. They're good boys, aren't you?" The albino bent down to hug and croon to each of them while the shrugging Dane poured food onto the grass.

When it was all in a heap, Prussia stood back behind the quivering beasts and then yelled, " _Los!_ " All the dogs immediately attacked the food pile, and he grabbed Den's arm and dragged him hurriedly back to the ring of cats. "If we stay there we might get mauled," he told his friend.

"It's still circle time, huh?" Den patted Romano on the head. "You're like a little kitten yourself, you know? Sleepy and warm."

This reminded Romano of the cat transformation spell, and he smiled softly, wishing he'd worn his pet tag collar. For a moment, before he answered, he wondered what England was doing today, and hoped he wasn't too lonely. He knew the bastard would like to be with these – yes – adorable cats. But the birds concerned him more, right now. "Those birds are creeping me out."

"I'm going to go take some more pictures of them," Den announced, keeping an eye on the slavering dogs at the other side of the park. "Don't come over; I don't want them disturbed."

"Fine, bastard." Romano lay gently back in the grass and rolled his eyes as cats swarmed up and over him to lie down atop his chest and belly and legs.

"Kesesese! Romano the cat mat!"

"Idiot," he smirked. "I don't notice any cats coming to play with _you._ " At that, all the dogs came loping back, barking and chasing one another, and all the cats fled in alarm. "Dammit! Can't you keep those things under control?" He was still a little pissed because his shoulder kitten hadn't come back to him yet.

"Don't worry, Romano! They're fine! The cats and dogs are out here every weekend. The dogs never chase the cats and the cats never chase the storks and herons. And the dogs don't either. Everything is perfectly fine! Peace and harmony with nature."

"Whatever you say." For a while he was able to tune out the dogs and relax, until he heard Denmark's voice in a panicked crescendo as he approached them.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey!" the deep Viking voice boomed. "All the birds are gone!"

"What?" This was odd enough that Romano sat up and Prussia left off romping with the dogs. "What are you talking about, bastard?"

"There's not a single stork or heron over there at all. I don't understand it."

"Pfft. Me neither. There were something like fifty of them when I went and looked. They all turned those nasty beaks to look at me. Creepy." Romano passed a hand over his face. "It's probably a good thing they're gone."

The albino potato scrambled to his feet. "This can't be good, though. This is a sanctuary for them. They're under West's special protection! They are _always_ here!" He ran towards the riverbank, dogs pounding after him.

"Well, shit. Does this mean we've scared off all the potato bastard's private pet water birds?"

"Beats me." Den scratched his head. "I didn't see them fly away or anything, did you? I'm sure we would have noticed a huge flock like that taking off."

"I didn't. But I was trying to pay attention to the cats." All the cats came back, at that, and took up their positions around him again.

Prussia trudged back, the dogs seeming equally dejected. "I don't get it. But this could be very bad. What kind of predator is there for water birds?"

Romano snorted. "No fucking idea. Anyway, we'd have heard something, if some predator was attacking. They probably just flew off for a while." His kitten came back and he picked it up, cooing gently to it. "Did you see where the big scary birds went, little one?"

A meow was the only answer; they all laughed. "Do we need to find them?" Den then wondered. "To tell Germany, or the shelter lady?"

"They're not officially part of the shelter. Ah, let's just ignore it. They'll come back. Come on, let's play Frisbee with the dogs!"

"Sounds like a plan." Romano was fearsome with a Frisbee…throwing it, at least. Catching, not so much. He set all the cats aside and followed his friends.


	183. Animal Attraction II

**Animal Attraction II.**

Romano and Prussia stood about twenty feet apart, absently tossing the Frisbee around while the dogs barked and frolicked with Den. Then Prussia yelled, "Go, boys!" and whizzed the disc all the way across the park, and all the dogs thundered after it. The Dane collapsed on the ground, laughing.

The cats, meanwhile, sat in a calm group behind Romano, watching him carefully.

"I can't believe this." Den struggled upright and fished out the camera again. "I don't know what's weirder, the cats or the birds. Are these cats always like this?"

"Pfft. No idea. West and I always play with the dogs."

"Hah, that explains it," Romano growled, watching the lead dog run back with the Frisbee, the others chasing him. "They finally found someone who will pay attention to them." The kitten wandered up and tried to claw its way up his pantleg, so he picked it up and set it on his shoulder with a kiss on its nose.

Den took another picture. "You're just so fucking adorable, Romano. England's going to be sorry he missed this."

While Prussia and the biggest dog wrestled for the Frisbee, Romano continued petting the kitten with a finger. It reached out a paw and patted his throat. Maybe because Den had been speaking of England, this made him think about the day the island nation had turned himself into a ginger cat – much like this kitten, as a matter of fact.

He froze.

Then, very carefully trying not to be obvious (but Den was romping with the dogs again), he slid his eyes sideways to check on this kitten. Ginger, yes. A-and – what he'd missed before – this kitten had fluffy dark patches like eyebrows. "Dammit!" he muttered to it. "Why couldn't you stay away? The stupid albino potato is going to kill me, bastard. He said you weren't allowed to come!"

The kitten opened its green eyes wider and meowed.

"Fuck!" he hissed, scooping it up and setting it on the ground. With flapping motions he tried to shoo it out of sight. "Get out of here before Prussia sees you!" Dammit, what the hell was he going to do when England changed back? Shit! "Hey, is there a bathroom around here?" he yelled in a panic. Maybe he could trap the bastard in the bathroom until later?

"Over there, by the woods," Prussia, underneath all the dogs, tried to point. "But you can just take a leak in the river, you know."

Romano didn't even answer that; he was busy fleeing towards the rest room with the kitten in his hand. Once safely inside, he locked the door, set the kitten on the floor and stood scowling down at it, hands on his hips. "You dumb bastard! I told you you weren't allowed to come! Turn back right now, and go back to London!"

The kitten began to studiously wash a paw. "Meow," it said dismissively.

"Stop ignoring me!" Fuck, he had no idea what to do. If he trapped the kitten in here until it turned back into England, what would happen when one of the other bastards needed the bathroom? A-and he couldn't really be too angry right now. First of all, this was the nation he loved (and he was angrier at the macho potato for his mysterious "No England" rule than he was at the island bastard anyway). Second of all, even if it wasn't England, it was the world's cutest kitten! "Shit," he muttered. "Why'd you have to do this to me?"

No response. That was going to be the cleanest paw in potato land, at this rate.

"Okay, listen, bastard. I've only got one thing to say to you. When you change back, if the albino potato starts getting pissed off, it's nothing to do with me, all right? I told him I'd warned you away, and I did, and – " His cell phone bleeped with a text message, so he stopped haranguing his furry companion and pulled the phone out.

 _Are you having a good day?_ England had sent him a text.

"What the _fuck?_ " He fumbled the phone onto the floor, scaring the kitten back under a toilet, where it crouched with its eyes wide and panicked. Romano scooped up the phone and stared at the text, ignoring the kitten for now. "How the hell did this text message arrive?" He hunkered down and stared at the kitten with his eyes narrowed. "Just stop all the magical shit, will you? Come out from under that – that toilet," he muttered, feeling embarrassed, "and let's go outside again. Okay?"

Patiently he waited with an outstretched hand, and after a few seconds the frightened kitten crept warily towards him. Ah, that was good; whether it was England or not, he didn't want it to be scared.

It got close enough for him to reach out and pick up, and then Den banged on the bathroom door, yelling, "Romano, are you camping out in there, or what?"

Of course the bastard had scared the kitten again. The brunet stomped over to the door and yanked it open. "You dumb, noisy son of a bitch! I was talking to the kitten!"

"In the bathroom? You _locked the door?"_ Den howled with laughter, bracing himself against the wall. Unnoticed by either of them, the kitten sprinted between all the jean-clad legs and scurried towards Prussia and the other animals.

"Shut up," Romano muttered. "Why were you banging on the damn door anyway?"

"Are you stupid? I need the bathroom, that's why." Den pushed him aside. "Go away. I need privacy. Prussian eggs don't agree with me."

Romano snorted and began to leave, but then remembered the kitten was in there. "Wait, give me the kitten."

The two of them searched all over the tiny bathroom but it was evident that the little furball had made its escape. "Dammit. I hope it's okay."

"Just get out of here. It will show up." The Viking shoved him outside and locked the bathroom door.

"Shit," Romano muttered again, slouching back towards the albino potato.

Having been in the bathroom made him realize he should have used it, so he changed direction and wandered into the trees for a little privacy. Who the fuck knew how long Den would be in the stupid bathroom. Unzipping his fly, staring at the tree trunk before him, Romano proceeded to release the pressure on his bladder, thinking about England and the kitten and wondering what the hell to do, and suddenly a stork stuck its head out from behind the tree and stared at him in surprise. "Aah!" He jumped back – thankfully he'd finished what he needed to do – and fell onto the ground, his equipment still hanging out of his pants. "Dammit!" He scrambled to his feet and ran back to Prussia, tucking things away and zipping up as he went, checking over his shoulder for the goddamn bird. "That stupid potato bastard," he panted, when he got to his friend. "I hate your damn brother."

The dogs at this point were all running around, frolicking together, and Prussia had the camera out. "What's the matter?" he asked.

"Bird," Romano wheezed, pointing back towards the trees. "B-behind a tree."

"You were scared of a _bird_? Kesesese, you and your brother really are cowards."

"Bastard, it was a huge stork. Right behind the tree where I was – was – "

"Ah ha ha ha, scared the piss out of you, did it?" Prussia kept cackling, but Romano was too upset and too weak to hit him. He glanced around for the kitten, but didn't see it. The other cats came back to him and settled into a protective circle. He was happy to see them, and sat to pet all the ones he could reach. He needed the peace and purring!

Meanwhile, in the bathroom, Denmark finished what he'd come in for, washed his hands and dried them, and opened the door. "Aah!" He jumped backwards and slammed it shut. Fuck! Three storks had been standing outside in a group around the damn doorway, staring at him like a bunch of hit men. Shit. How was he going to get past them?

"Wait a minute," he said aloud. "I'm a big badass Viking. I don't need to be afraid of some stupid German birds!" He grabbed a handful of paper towels in each hand, holding them loosely by the corners, and flung the door open wide, letting out the berserker yell, charging outside and flapping the paper towels in an attempt to scare off the storks.

Halfway back to the others he realized there had been no storks this time. M-maybe he'd imagined it? He turned and looked – no storks. "Shit!" Den hurriedly stuffed the paper towels into his pockets so his friends wouldn't ask about them, and tried to look casual as he slouched over. "Hey." He flopped onto the ground and grabbed a dog to wrestle. This was a weird, weird day.

"All okay, my awesome friend?" Prussia asked.

"Temporarily, I think." He managed to peek at Romano. "Where's your kitten?"

"No idea. I – I was just telling the albino potato about a stork that hid behind a tree and scared the pi—scared me. I don't know what it was doing there."

So Den sat up and explained what he thought he'd seen when leaving the bathroom. Didn't tell them about his pep talk or the Viking yell, though. That would have been embarrassing!

"That is kind of weird." Prussia flipped the Frisbee back and forth absently. "I'm going to go see if they're in the woods, or what." He tossed the Frisbee to Den and got up. "Come on, awesome cats, walk with me!"

All the cats stayed camped around Romano and watched him go. "You cats have good taste," he heard Romano laugh, just before he reached the woods.

Hmm. Nothing. He used his awesome ninja skills to creep from pine to rowan to linden, but there were no storks or herons in sight. Not a one! He thought Den must have been mistaken. Maybe Romano had been, too. He walked into a little clearing ringed by trees and considered this. He, Prussia, hadn't seen any since much earlier today. They must have all migra—"Aah!" From behind each tree around the clearing a few storks and herons appeared, flapping their wings slowly and clacking their beaks together. Prussia didn't stop to see if they were a hallucination – he ran hell-for-leather back to his friends, panting, not noticing that Den had the camera out and was filming his panicked retreat.

"Well, bastard? I'm guessing they found you?" Romano looked past him but didn't see any birds. Good.

" _Scheisse!_ It was nuts! There were about twenty of them and they all just materialized out of nowhere. Man, I'm going to tell West to make them migrate. I can't handle this." He lay down and the dogs came to cozy up to him. Some cats, meanwhile, got up to investigate him, but soon came back to the Italian.

"Is it four o'clock yet?" the blond then asked, stowing the camera. "This is all too weird. Do we have to wait for the shelter lady, or can we cage these guys up and go?"

"Well, it's three-thirty." Prussia sat up. "We have to wait for her, but let's get everything packed up."

So they packed the cat treat bag, the empty dog food bag, and the Frisbee into the backpack, sparing some time to pet the dogs, who seemed very tired all of a sudden.

The kitten finally scampered up to Romano from nowhere and meowed. Panicking again – what if England changed back in front of these two bastards? – he scooped it (him?) up and set it on his shoulder. "Don't w-w-worry," he managed to tell it. "I won't let the big scary birds get you." Damn straight! If the fucking storks or herons showed signs of attack, he'd be out of there faster than any WWII battle retreat. As long as the kitten stayed on his shoulder, they'd both be safe.

"Soon time to go," Prussia told the dogs. "Better get your ya-yas out!" They suddenly got their second wind and all broke into insane barking, charging in unison over into the wooded area.

This barking did the job that none of the nations had been able to achieve. About fifty storks and herons flapped out of the trees and soared into the sky, leaving the frothing dogs behind.

"Wh-wh-what the _fuck?_ " Den eventually squeaked out. "Where the hell were they?"

"Don't ask me. That was awesome! Good job, boys," the albino called to the dogs, applauding.

"That was _insane,_ bastards. Nothing awesome at all." Romano was squeezing his kitten so tightly that it began to squawk at him. He let go and smiled weakly at it. "Sorry, Eng—uh, bastard," he corrected himself, still flustered. It stopped making noise and patted his nose again. Dammit.

"Hellooo?" The shelter lady's voice came from the direction of the cages.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Den said firmly, scooping up the backpack and running over there. Romano was hot on his heels.

When they got there – and all the cats had peacefully come to say goodbye to Romano before getting put into their cages – they saw Prussia coaxing the dogs out from the woods. "Kesesese! That was so cool. Come on, boys, time to go back in for the night." The canines frolicked around him, and then around Den, leaping up and making all of them laugh.

Romano stood to the side, still holding the kitten, halfheartedly watching Den and the dogs while wondering what to do. How could he let the shelter lady put England into a cage? What would happen when the bastard changed back? That cage was very small. He was in such a flap over this that he decided to adopt the kitten. It was the only way to save the situation that he could think of.

As soon as he'd made this decision, his phone bleeped again. This time England's text said _Where are you gits?_

"Huh?" he said to the phone. Then he looked at the kitten. Could this really be just coincidence? He now supposed it had to be. In that case, this wasn't England, and he didn't have to adopt it. That was good. With all his nation work he didn't really have time to dote on it like he should, adorable though it was. Shoving the phone back into his pocket, he handed the kitten to the shelter lady after pecking another goodbye kiss on its nose.

Prussia, locking the last dog in its cage, caught sight of this and beamed. "Why don't you adopt it?"

The shelter lady glanced up from the last lock. "Oh! That kitten is mine. I just keep her here because she gets more companionship than staying home alone all day while I work. Did 'oo have a nice day, _Schätzchen_?" she cooed to the kitten, who looked smug.

Well, that solved that, dammit. "Fine. Thanks. Let's just go, bastards," he said, jabbing Den with his elbow.

"Okay. See ya next month!" Prussia called out to the lady, as they all headed back to the car.

Den threw the backpack into the back seat before taking shotgun. "Man, that was an exhausting day. Those freaky fucking birds!"

Prussia nodded fervently. "I wonder why they were all hiding in the trees? I don't think that's marsh bird behavior at all. Maybe something scared them." He started the car. "Hey, are we going out for awesome dinner? I know it's kind of early. And if you want, Romano, now that we're done with the shelter, you could call Arthur and invite him to join us, if he can. We can hang out and drink while we wait for him."

Yes. He was so flustered about the cats and the birds that he wanted England's soothing presence to calm him down. "Cool. Thanks." He pulled out the phone and answered the last text, asking the blond to join them.

By the time Prussia pulled into his driveway, England was already on the front stoop. "Hey, _Arthur!_ " The albino leaped out of the car and ran to hug his friend. "Wow, you are so magic! You got here so fast."

England laughed and hugged him. "I've been in town a while. Romano wouldn't tell me what you gits were up to, so I thought it'd be fun to come wait for you. Spent some time wandering around the city."

Romano walked up and embraced him quickly as well. "Hey, bastard."

"Hello, love." England stroked his hair. Ah, that was better. He always felt much safer around the island nation. They –

"Aah!" Den's voice broke into his thoughts.

The brunet turned and panicked to see a whole flock of storks and herons swooping around the front yard. "Dammit!" he yelled, and all three of the Skirmish Brothers ran into the house, but England stayed put. The birds circled him like a whirlwind, and he stood staring into the sky in awe.

Inside, the three pressed their noses to the windowpane to watch. "Bastard, get in here," Romano moaned under his breath, desperately worried about his vulnerable friend.

"Shit," Den agreed.

But England simply waved at the birds and turned to walk to the front door calmly.

The boys watched the flock wheel off, heading back towards the shelter and river park. "Huh?" Prussia asked pointlessly.

"M-magic," Romano choked out. "It must be. Dammit, I wish he'd been at the park! He could have kept them all away from us." He was too frightened to go back out into the front yard and hoped England would get into the house right away, before the damn birds came back, so he'd be safe.

Denmark's eyes narrowed. "Maybe he _was_ at the park. Maybe he made them do all that shit."

"And the cats!" Prussia agreed. "They all loved Romano so much. That'd totally be an Iggy thing to do."

As soon as Prussia let him in, they all began pelting England with questions. Had he done magic? Was he at the park in disguise? Did he – "Wait, wait," he laughed. "You seriously think I was storking you three today?"

Huh? "D-d-did you say _storking us_?" Romano stammered.

"Are you kitten me? I said 'stalking,' Romano! 'Stalking' you!"

"Huh."

"You must not be heron me right." He could not repress a smirk.

"You did do something," Den said flatly.

"Who, me? That would be marsh too intrusive."

"You dumb, fucking idiot!" Romano yelled, and with screams of malicious joy all three of them jumped on the island nation and began pounding him senseless.


	184. The Magical Adventures of the Skirmish

**The Magical Adventures of the Skirmish Brothers.**

"They do exist, you know." England pushed back his cap and grinned, though his eyes were shut against the sun. "Middle-Earth's a lot cooler at this time of year, too." He raised his Campari and soda to toast his friends.

It was true: the heat here in Rome was almost sizzling. A week of meetings in Venice had just ended, and Romano had invited his three friends to spend the weekend. None had anticipated the sweltering weather, though. They now relaxed on his back deck, drinking iced drinks, wearing nothing but swim trunks and caps. Every now and then, Romano turned on the garden hose and sprayed them all, before returning to his siesta-like stupor.

"Kesesese! You can't be serious, Arthur. Middle-Earth? Hah!"

Denmark snorted weakly, placing some ice cubes in a line down each of his powerful thighs. "Next you'll be telling me Discworld exists, or Narnia."

"Bastards."

"They do," the island nation yawned, pouring another drink from the depleted pitcher. "How do you think I know about them? My people go there, and then come back to write stories about them. Oz, Barsoom, Dalemark…they're all real."

Prussia opened his eyes but then closed them against the intense sunlight. "So, have you ever been there?" More than a hint of derision came through in his question.

"Of course." Ice cubes tinkled as England finished his drink. "Anybody can get there, if they have the right mindset."

"See, bastard, he's going to claim nobody has the right fucking mindset anymore, and then he won't have to prove it." Romano played the hose over them once more.

"Not at all. I could take us all to anyplace you'd care to go. Though I'd suspect Romano would be too bloody chicken."

"Pfft. You could take us to Middle-Earth?" Den started laughing so hard that all the remaining ice cubes fell off his legs. "You're on."

"Yes! Let's go. I want to meet Saruman! That'd be so awesome, because he's Saruman the White, you know."

England finally opened his eyes and stared at the albino. "Gilbert, you idiot. Saruman's dead, remember? Wormtongue killed him."

Prussia's face fell; Romano started laughing. "See? I told you. He'll take you to some fucking desolate part of Britain and claim it's Middle-Earth. Pfft. Well, you're not getting me to fall for it, stupid." He reached for the hose and aimed it right at the island nation's face.

"Git!"

A short struggle ensued; when it was over, both England and Romano were soaking wet and laughing. Prussia had rescued (and emptied) the drinks pitcher, and Denmark had fallen asleep, missing the whole thing.

"All right," Romano finally conceded, trying to dry his sopping hair with his wet shirt. "Fine. Take us all to Middle-Earth. Prove it. Then I'll shut up about your fucking mystic shit once and for all."

"Deal," England promptly responded. "Next weekend's a bank holiday. Come over on Friday night; we'll get a good night's sleep, and leave on Saturday morning."

"Kesesese! Hey, Den, wake up! This is going to be _awesome!"_


	185. The Shire I

**The Shire.** (Lord of the Rings, J. R. R. Tolkien)

Denmark woke up kind of late on Saturday. It was past nine! He stretched in the bed, wondering why Prussia hadn't dragged him awake at six, wondering why England and Romano had let him sleep so long. Maybe they were still in bed. He knew both of them were late sleepers. Stumbling out of the bed, Den hurried to wash up, then dressed in a tan tee, brown pants and his hiking boots.

At first he'd dismissed England's claims as unprovable, but over the last week he and Prussia had spoken of it more and more, and now he was strongly hoping that this was legit. To see Middle-Earth! Not many people had that chance, he'd bet. Not to mention the sheer thrill of being involved in magic. Den wasn't as flagrantly excited as Prussia was, but he was keeping a lid on it so he didn't look like a dork. He planned to be very calm and supportive of the island nation (no matter what negativity Romano might still be spouting) in case it was true. Think of all the places they could go, if England didn't get pissed off at them!

As he descended the narrow stairs of the London townhome, he could hear three accented, angry voices shouting in the kitchen. The fighting bastards were at it already! Grinning, he walked into the room, and immediately saw the problem. "Prussia, you ass. Go change your clothes."

"What? What?" The albino removed his mirrored sunglasses and peered down at his outfit: tie-dye neon hoodie, cargo jean shorts, a chain wallet and Birkenstocks with black socks. "Arthur's yelling about it, too. What are you two talking about? This is my usual tourist outfit. Remember?"

Den yawned. "They don't dress like that in Middle-Earth. You have to blend in with the locals! Go put on something more somber."

"Somber! I don't do somber." Prussia flopped into a kitchen chair and put his sunglasses back on with a grin, sucking down some coffee.

"Pfft. Might as well let him dress how he wants, bastards. You know we're not actually going to end up there."

England slammed his fist down onto the counter. "Listen up, wankers. Either we do this right, or we don't go. I don't want to cause problems with hobbits staring at Gilbert's bloody neon gear all day, or listen to Romano's half-assed bitching about how I'm taking you to a fake place!"

"I know you'll take us to a real place, you moron. I know you can work magic, remember?" Romano reached a hand up to his throat. "I just don't believe you can take us to a place that's fictional."

"Git! It's not fictional! That's the whole point!"

"Dammit, you stupid bastard! You know what I meant."

England roared, "If you're going to be like this, then get out of the bloody house!"

The two of them faced each other across the counter, growling. _Back down, Romano_ , Denmark prayed. It was never pretty when these two fought with each other, and it would suck if he didn't play along. Not to mention all the damn drama afterwards…Den could see it now, three months of fighting and listening to Romano moan about England. Shit.

Romano took a deep breath and apparently heard the prayer. "Sorry," he said, staring at the floor.

"Yeah, me too." England pushed a hand through his hair. "Look, even if you don't believe it, just roll with it, all right? It's an adventure for all four of us. If it turns out to be unsatisfactory for you, I give you my permission to give me unlimited flak about it for the next two weeks. All right?"

"O-okay." The brunet looked up and they hesitantly smiled at each other. "Three weeks," he amended with a smirk.

England rolled his eyes. "Fine."

"Enough of all this," Den then said, hoping to dispel the tension. "Prussia, go change, and England, make me some breakfast." Though he might live to regret that.

"Wanker. Get your own breakfast. I'll help Gilbert find something appropriate to wear." The two of them left the room.

"Fuck," Romano sighed, flopping into a chair, watching Den rummage around for food. He at least was dressed more appropriately – black clothes and boots – even if he didn't think it was a 'real event.'

Denmark found some rye bread and put it in the toaster, grabbing an apple from the bowl on the counter to munch while he waited for it to pop up. "Yeah. But listen, will you? What if it really is real? Wouldn't you be pissed if we missed out on it?"

"Guess so. I'm not really a fan of magical shit. I've seen the movies, but…" Romano shrugged.

The toast popped up and Denmark began to butter it. "But you know England would go along with stuff that _you_ like, right? If you wanted him to? Might as well return the favor." He shoved the apple core into the trash can before starting in on the toast. "Besides, maybe Prussia will be so awed he'll shut up for a while."

The two of them were still laughing at that when the others returned, with the albino now appropriately dressed. He still wore his shorts, and his sandals without the socks, but had struggled his more muscular torso into one of England's plain olive green t-shirts; the sunglasses were gone.

"Did you get enough to eat?" England asked.

"Psh. Yeah, enough, I guess." Den shoved the last piece of stale toast into his mouth and licked butter off his fingers.

"So where are you taking us? The Shire? Rohan? Lothlorien? Man, I want to see some elves," Prussia whined. Romano rolled his eyes but kept silent.

The island nation busied himself putting away the breakfast things, tumbling the dirty crockery into the sink for later. "I thought we'd start out in the Shire. It's fairly tame. If you're all happy with the adventure as a whole, we can put the other places on a list for the future. Okay?"

"Deal!" Prussia grabbed Den's hand and began jumping up and down. "Where do we go? What do we do?"

Romano started laughing. To Denmark he said, "About that 'so awed' business?"

Both England and Prussia ignored that. "Yappy gits. Come downstairs to my Sanctum."

"His what?" Den whispered to Romano, following England and the capering Prussia down the gloomy wooden stairs to the basement.

"Beats the hell out of me."

The blond led them into a spacious, wooden-floored room with massive floor-to-ceiling bookcases on all four walls. Track lighting overhead dispelled any gloom; wooden shelves with incense, candles, books, and other magical paraphernalia surrounded them. The center of the room was filled by an ornate magical circle carved into the floor, with a smaller one off to the side. Prussia immediately ran up to a skull on a shelf. "Cool! Whose skull?"

"Sherlock Holmes," England muttered absently, scrounging around in a drawer.

"Don't you mean the awesome Conan Doyle?"

"I mean Sherlock Holmes!" The blond unearthed a long, rustic-looking cape with a hood, a sort of dirty brick color, and put it on over his clothing, fastening it at the throat. "Don't touch anything." He then took a battered leather rucksack and checked its contents.

"Sherlock fucking _Holmes._ I'm going to get a headache from all this eye rolling, bastard."

"Shut it. Stand in the middle of the big circle." England pointed to it without looking up. "This is our emergency bag. Aspirin, ointment, allergy pills, that kind of shite. I'll hang onto it. Let me know if you need anything." He held up the bag for their perusal.

Dutifully his three friends moved to the center of the circle. Prussia continued to peer around the room and tug on Den's arm whenever he saw something interesting. "What do we need to do?"

Their host turned from his packing. "You're in the circle, yeah? We'll stand in there, and I need to light a candle and recite a spell. All you three have to do is stand silently and don't break the circle. Got that? Gilbert? Don't break the circle!"

"Yeah, yeah, I awesomely got it." Both the others nodded; Romano continued to scowl around the room.

"I never even knew you had a basement," Den remarked, gazing at everything. "It looks very modern, for a magic place. You know. We expect dribbly candles and eye of toad and all that junk you read about in books, but this looks like a drugstore."

"A drugstore with Sherlock Holmes' fucking skull," Romano muttered, sounding uneasy.

"There's no reason to stick with all that old-time claptrap," England pointed out. "Magic moves with the times just like everything else. Most of the old stuff you see is just personal memorabilia for me." He headed to a bookcase and removed a large, leather-bound book, looking something up and nodding to himself.

"Hey, Iggy, do you really use all this stuff or is it just for show?" Prussia pointed at a broom in the corner.

"Not going to answer if you call me Iggy." The host pulled out a thick white candle and some matches, and strode to the center of the circle. "Hold this." He handed it to Denmark, probably because he seemed like the most rational one of the three at the moment, before striding to a large wardrobe in the corner.

"Okay, then, _Arrrr-thurrr…_ will you answer me? What's the broom for? I thought only witches used brooms?"

"Git. The broom is used for sweeping the floor." Even Romano laughed at that. "I use most of this stuff, though it depends on what I'm doing. Every spell has different needs." He rummaged in the wardrobe, pulling out an impressive ebony wizard's staff shod with silver.

"How often do you do magic?"

"Not much, these days. I'm glad I'm getting a chance to do some now. I hope you wankers can deal with it." He joined them in the circle, switching off the overhead lights on the way. The room became somewhat spooky. Was the skull glowing? Denmark shivered a little. "Den, please light the candle and place it in the dead center of the circle, which is marked with a cross."

The others spread back to give Denmark some room. Romano clutched at England's cape and the four stood staring at the candle for a second. "Well?" the Italian hissed.

"Turn your back on it. One person facing each of the cardinal directions."

"How do we know –?"

"Kesesese! It's carved into the floor, Romano!" Prussia pointed to the compass rose, flickering in the weak, gardenia-scented candlelight. "Wait, though. We have to do our regular compass thing." He pulled and shoved until the struggling Romano stood facing south, Denmark north, England west and then took his own position facing east. "Okay, go."

England began a low melancholy chant that none of the others could make out, and before Denmark could begin to worry…

…they were standing at a dusty crossroads, looking out over some fields. "Huh?" Romano blurted out. "That was it?"

"Wow. Even if this isn't the Shire, Arthur, that was an excellent way of traveling." Prussia blew him a kiss. "Can we move now?"

"Yes, step away from the candle." England reached down, picked it up, and ceremoniously extinguished it, stowing it in the rucksack.

Denmark had to shade his eyes against the bright sunlight. "This is really the Shire?"

"Yes!" England raised his dark eyebrows and buffed his nails on his robe, grinning like the master magician he was. "Why would I lie?"

Romano laughed. "Prove it. I'm not being cranky! I just want some proof. But the albino potato is right. That was a great way to travel. Why don't you do that for meetings? Save yourself all that time on trains and fucking airplanes? Save _us_ all that time…?" He smiled somewhat appealingly at his boyfriend.

"Half of the knowledge of magic is knowing when not to use it," England lectured. "Are we going to stand around gawking all day?" He turned slowly in place. "But it does seem rather deserted. Maybe something's going on. Some kind of event. I hope there's no trouble."

"If there is, we could probably help out." Den grinned. "Should have brought my axe. That'd fit right in. Or I could use your staff?"

"Bloody hell! We're not supposed to interfere! And my staff is not a weapon."

"Let's walk! Let's walk!" Prussia grabbed Den's hand and pulled him along in a random direction.

"Hey, no," the Dane replied, yanking his hand away. "I don't want to hold your hand while we're here."

"Huh? Oh. Well, all right." The albino skipped ahead and did a few handsprings; one of his sandals fell off and he hurried to fetch it. "This is _so awesome!_ "

"Don't get your hopes up, bastard. This looks exactly like the movies, you know? I bet he just brought us to New Zealand, where they make the movies. This is the movie set. It's still set up for the Hobbit movies."

England rolled his eyes again. "Don't be an arse, Romano. Of course Peter Jackson's been to Middle-Earth, too. He modeled the sets on the actual Shire."

Romano kicked a rock. "It's a fucking British conspiracy."

"Shut up," all three of his friends chorused, walking on. He hurried to catch up.

"Anyway, even if this was the movie set, that'd still be awesome. I want to meet Benedict Cumberbatch!"

"You're no better than a bloody fangirl, Gilbert! Everybody in Christendom wants to meet that bloke. Get a move on!"

…

About a mile later a young boy ran up to them. Everyone but England stared in amazement, because this boy really did look like a hobbit. Denmark, squinting, couldn't tell whether he was an – an _actual hobbit,_ or a curly-haired actor with prosthetic hairy feet. Young? He might even be as old as thirty. Den realized he was completely at a loss here.

Before anyone could speak, the boy said to Prussia, "Are you here for the party? You – gosh, you're completely _white!"_

Prussia flashed him a wide-eyed grin and then did another handspring. "Party? Awesome!"

"Shut up." Romano hissed this but they all heard it.

England sighed. "No, lad, we're not. What's the party in aid of? And is that why there's no one around? We don't want to interrupt anything."

"Yeah, yeah! My da's having a birthday today. He said some old friends were coming, so I'm out here on the road to meet them."

Denmark stared at the youngster, still trying to make up his mind about the boy's authenticity. "Da?" he asked, at the same time that England said "Old friends?"

"Me dad's name is Samwise. It's not actually his birthday. He went on a big adventure when he was little and today's the anniversary of the day he came back safely. He went with his friend Mr. Frodo."

"We know," Romano said, perhaps unwisely.

"You do know? It's true, what Dad always said! Mr. Frodo was the famousest of all the hobbits!" The youngster tried to mimic Prussia's handspring and fell down, laughing and waving his big hairy feet in the air. "Come on! Come to the party!"

"Wait, lad, wait." England helped him upright. "We aren't the friends he's waiting for."

"That's all right! Everyone's welcome at a party. Come along and I'll show you where it is."

Prussia did a little triumphant shuffle-step in the middle of the road, but Den cleared his throat. "Wh-what about the real friends?" he wondered. "What happens if you're not here when they show up?"

"Sam's friends will show up," a deep voice boomed behind them. As they turned, Den saw Romano close his eyes, as if he couldn't believe what was happening.

And in fact Denmark could hardly believe it, and Prussia stood with his jaw open like a big dumb fish. "G-Gimli? _Legolas?"_ the albino whispered.

"You know us, white Man?" the newcomer laughed. Even Legolas managed a gentle smile. "Aye, every one of Sam Gamgee's friends knows us!" The dwarf tried to throw his arm around Prussia's shoulders, but the albino was too tall, so Gimli merely slapped him on the back. "Come along! As the youngster said, everyone's welcome at a party."

Somewhat in a daze, the Skirmish Brothers managed to perform introductions as they walked along. England remained polite and friendly, chatting with both the dwarf and elf, while the hobbit scampered ahead, still trying to mimic Prussia's handsprings.

Eventually a little something snapped in Denmark's brain, and he stopped thinking of them as _famous fictional characters_ and just started thinking of them as people. At that point, it became much easier to converse, although the calm serenity of Legolas got on his nerves a bit.

Prussia had apparently found a similar solution in his mind; he was now up ahead, laughing and trying to teach the young hobbit (whose name they still did not know) how to properly perform a handspring. Maybe it was easier for him to relax because the young boy wasn't a book character?

Denmark was so laughingly intent on that sight, and on his conversation with the others, that he didn't pay attention to Romano, so he missed the warning signs. The brunet walked far to the rear of the group, frowning, scuffing his boots in the dry Shire dust. Even England didn't realize this. If he had, he might have taken some steps to prevent the upcoming disaster at the party.


	186. The Shire II

**The Shire II.**

By the time they'd all reached the party field, everyone else seemed to be comfortable. Romano still felt awkward, but he didn't know what to do about it. It was obviously some kind of setup, though. It had to be! England had had a whole week to notify the moviemaking bastards that they were coming today, and this was all just a little too convenient. A party? Yeah, _right_. He'd sort it out later, though. Didn't want to make trouble in front of all these actors.

Romano did understand that he was antisocial. Hell, everybody knew that, even his friends. Especially his friends! They were the only three people in the world (well, and add Veneziano) who actually knew that he could be calm, have fun and relax.

But of course if – if this was real, if this was somehow not an England scam, then these people didn't know anything about Italy. He'd often daydreamed about something like this: going to a place where he had no prior history, and trying to behave rationally and make friends more easily. As a nation, of course, a place like this was impossible to find, and he also wasn't sure he could manage to behave right.

Chigi, it was so stupid! Look at the damn albino potato doing gymnastics in the middle of the fucking road. He was probably going to ask for a role in the next movie. Romano snorted and trudged along. There had to be a way to prove – or _disprove_ – this whole setup. Did he really want to keep tagging along with his friends to all the magical worlds? Or facsimiles of magical world, or whatever the hell they were? Maybe he shouldn't play along after this.

But this depressed him. He had more fun with these bastards than anybody else, and he'd absolutely hate to be left out, even if he wasn't really interested in the destination. He bit his lip. A-and it might upset England, if he said he didn't want to go anymore. Dammit.

The group rounded a corner and came upon the busy Party Field. Did it look like the movie set? Romano couldn't tell. He'd watched the movies when they'd first come out, and – well, it sort of looked right, but he'd never really know. He wasn't some analytical idiot that memorized every movie trying to find flaws with it.

He blinked, noticing that England was standing next to him. "You all right?" the blond asked quietly.

"Uh? Yeah, yeah, don't worry about me. I'll sit in the corner and should be all right." He would have said more, but a bunch of "hobbits" came forward to greet the large group.

Legolas took the lead, introducing the newcomers to Sam, Pippin, Merry, and a few others; each of the nations shook hands with all of them. "We're happy to be sharing in your special day," England pronounced portentously.

Sam Gamgee laughed and laughed. "Don't worry about it none. Just come and enjoy!" He gestured with a sweeping arm towards the crowds, some of whom were staring at him and the non-hobbit guests, but most of whom were already eating, drinking and smoking, catching up on gossip with friends new and old.

A very young child toddled up to Sam and grabbed him by the leg. "Grandpa?" she said in a quavering voice, staring nervously up at Denmark (easily the tallest person here). Romano stifled a laugh at her fearful expression.

The host swung her up into his arms. "Come on, little lass. Let's go find your mother." To the newly-arrived group he laughed, "Make yourselves at home!" before striding off to find his daughter. The young child continued to stare at Den, who waved at her; she broke into giggles as Sam took her away.

"Interesting to meet some new Men," Pippin grinned, staring them blatantly up and down.

"You have no idea," the Viking nation replied, smirking and shaking his hand once more. "What usually goes on at these parties?"

Gimli gestured to a picnic table that was currently unoccupied. "Come, let's sit and drink. Even the elf will have beer on this day, won't you?" He nudged Legolas and received an actual laugh in return. The four nations, with the four remaining members of the Fellowship, sat at the table.

Merry collared a young hobbit. "Beer and pipes for us all," he demanded, and the youth, looking awestruck, nodded and ran to fetch these things. "We have a little bit of clout," he then said modestly, making his friends laugh.

Romano sat on the edge of his bench. Somehow he'd ended up next to Legolas. Shit. Well, at least he was opposite England. He smiled weakly at the bastard, getting a big happy smile in return. That was good. At least his friend wasn't pissed off at him for being unsociable. Romano decided his best bet would be to sit quietly, observe, and ask, once they were alone at home, whether it had been a prank. Surely England would be honest with him, when they were alone? He didn't mind coming along to all these things, he decided, but he needed England's honesty. That was the most important thing.

He squirmed a little, remembering that night when he'd pranked the three of them into drinking the yerba mate with habanero sauce. M-m-maybe they knew it had been a prank, and this was their payback? Dammit!

But before Romano could panic about this, the young hobbit and some friends came back bearing a few pitchers of beer, some mugs, pipes and tobacco. Predictably, the stupid albino potato and Den both reached for the beer, but to Romano's surprise, England picked up a pipe and lit up. Gimli kept an entire pitcher of beer for himself, and the rest of them shared out the other pitchers.

Romano hated beer, but it would be a good excuse for not speaking, if he kept drinking. Yeah. He'd suffer it, today. He picked up the mug and drank. Hmm. It was pretty good – for _beer._

"So, what brings you to our humble Shire?" Pippin asked, still grinning at Den.

"Not so humble any longer," Legolas pointed out. "Thanks to your bravery, the Shire's now famous throughout the land, where many did not know of it before." Merry and Pippin showed no signs of embarrassment at this, but laughed and drank, toasting the elf.

Prussia tried to find a way to explain their visit. "We – uh – we're – our friend, uh," he stumbled, pointing to England, who took up the discussion.

"We're just passing through. Trying to take more of an interest in the world around us."

"Not a very big pack, for four Men traveling the world." Merry raised an eyebrow and then yelped. "Stop kicking me, Pip. You know it's true."

"Maybe you're wizards?" the elf asked politely.

"Yeah! Eng—uh, Arthur is a wizard," Prussia blurted out, getting nasty frowns from his three friends. "What? What?"

"Just shut your mouth." Denmark cuffed him on the shoulder and explained, "We're trying to travel incognito."

Romano snorted and looked up from his second beer. "As if any group with the albino potato could stay undercover."

"Kesesese! Well, you got that right, Romano. Hey, get up and walk around with me," Prussia suggested. "Slow down on the beer; let's go see things."

"Cheh, well, all right." The Italian pushed himself up from the table. "Though this beer is a lot better than any other beer I've had."

"Shire beer is famous!" Pippin and Merry clanked their mugs in a toast to the Shire beer, and Romano managed not to snort as he walked off with Prussia, who began to argue the merits of German beer with him.

Gimli too rose from the table, saying he wanted to talk to Sam. The others waved them off.

"So where are you from?" Legolas politely asked Denmark.

He was wildly casting around in his mind for an appropriate answer, but England replied, "Elsewhere."

 _Elsewhere?_ Den snorted into his mug. What a stupid answer.

Yet, spreading his hands in acceptance of this, the elf replied, "Fair enough."

Before he could get further, England asked the two hobbits how many years it had been since their return to the Shire. "It must have been a while ago, if Sam's got grandchildren?"

"At least sixteen, then, I suppose," Merry decided, drinking more beer and sending a young hobbit off to fetch a few more pitchers. "We don't think much about the flow of time, do we, Pip?"

Pippin belched and reached for a pipe, laughing. "Not anymore. As long as I've got what I need, I'm all right. Pour me a beer."

For a while the five of them talked about the party, about the Shire in general. Denmark was really impressed, both with England's magic and with the people they'd met. He was excited about meeting Gimli and hoped to get a good look at the axe that he wore in a bandolier on his back, once the dwarf returned to the table.

A few minutes later Pippin upended his empty mug and possibly kicked his friend again. At any rate, Merry scowled, first at his friend, and then at the party in general. "Yes, where are those kids? We need our beer!" He got up and ran off.

In less than a minute, more beer arrived, on a tray held by a different youth. "A-are you friends with the Man who's all white?" one of them whispered to Denmark, who began laughing like mad. He knew Prussia must be loving this.

England rolled his eyes. "Incognito, my arse. Yes, he's our friend. Why?"

"He's going to sing a song, he said!" The hobbit girl's pale blue eyes were wide amongst her cloud of curly blond hair. "Look!" She turned and pointed.

Prussia stood on a picnic table that was surrounded by laughing hobbits and Gimli. From this distance Den couldn't hear him, but he saw his friend make a deep courtly bow and apparently begin singing. The hobbits in his audience began to clap along with the song, and Den felt a poke in his back.

"Move over, idiot." Romano sat between him and England. "I can't believe this." He reached for a pitcher and poured himself a new beer.

"Pfft." England gave him a wry grin. "Are you kidding? Gilbert's a lot like a hobbit himself, you know; just likes the simple things in life. To perform a song at a party like this is probably going to be the best experience he's ever had."

"What's he singing?" Den asked.

"The fu—uh, the stupid 'Big Rock Candy Mountain'!" Romano drank some beer and rolled his eyes; the other two laughed.

By then, Prussia had finished singing; he hopped off the table and ran back to them. "That was so awesome! Did you see me? Did you? Listen to them clapping!" He plopped down on the end of the bench next to Pippin, across from Den.

"Yes, we saw you. Couldn't hear you, though." Denmark reached over and ruffled his hair. "They liked it, huh?" And indeed, the assembled crowd continued to clap and stare after him.

"Kesesese! Go up, Den. Go up and sing something!"

"Hah. I can't sing those kinds of songs on command. Let's see." Den leaned back on the bench. "Yeah, I got something I can do. Back in a bit." He slid out of the seat and wandered off to the performance table.

Gimli came back and sat next to Legolas again. "A good song, pale Man! A great song! Eh, my friend?" He turned to the elf with a hearty grin.

"I'm going to go speak to Sam" was Legolas' calm response, just as Merry came back and sat down again.

When the elf was out of earshot, everyone but Romano began to laugh. "You have to admit it's not his style," Pippin pointed out.

"Wonder what kind of performance the Viking bastard's doing?" By now Denmark was up on the table and bowed as Prussia had done.

"I'll go see." England got up, removing his cloak and packing it into their rucksack before walking over to the performance table. His friends watched him go.

Even before he arrived in the crowd Romano saw him cover his face with his hands, turn, and hurry back. "Well? Well? What's he doing, moron?"

"Bloody Beowulf. I should have guessed."

Romano didn't even reply. He just put his head down on the table.

"You okay?" Merry poked him. "Too much beer?"

"You can never have too much beer!" Pippin roared this out and finished half a pitcher at one go.

The Italian sat up and groaned. "Believe me. Any beer is too much beer!"

Both the hobbits looked affronted at that statement, and England gave his friend a little shove under the table. "Git," he whispered. "Don't offend our hosts!"

Denmark came back before Romano could answer, and Pippin's attention was distracted. "Eh, Merry, maybe we should go up and dance?"

"Sounds good to me." Merry finished his beer, pointedly eyeing the surly Romano, before getting up and following his friend.

The four friends were now alone at the table, so Denmark sat next to Prussia, opposite the others. "How did Beowulf go?" Prussia asked.

"Ah, I only did the extremely short version. Seems they were happier with your song." Den scratched his spiky hair. "Maybe this isn't the place for classical literature."

"You going to perform something, idiot?" Romano elbowed his friend.

England thought. "Can't think of anything. No, I can't be arsed to do anything like that. Come for a walk with me?" he asked Romano.

"I'd rather just sit. Take Den." Romano reached for the beer pitcher.

"Well? Want to go for a walk?"

"Yes, of course. Plus I think we ought to walk around and see more of the Shire before we go, you know? Get a real feel for the place." They got up from the table and headed on a loop of the perimeter just as Sam came back to the table.

Romano sighed and drank some more. Sam sat next to Prussia, so Romano tried to observe, to see if this guy really was a real hobbit. Well, there was no actual way to do that without bending down and staring at his fucking feet, so he stopped trying and focused on the conversation.

"Eh, I love a good party." Sam puffed on his pipe. "You furriners enjoying yourselves?"

"It's awesome! I mean, a party! We didn't expect that at all."

Legolas returned and sat next to Romano. "And such a big party, too," the elf said. "Please pour me another glass of beer?" He reached his mug towards Sam, who obliged.

Romano wondered where England and Denmark were by now. He squirmed in his seat trying to find them, but this was a very big party, and there were hobbits everywhere, or hobbit actors, whatever the hell they were. He couldn't spot his friends.

He turned back to the conversation and found that someone had poured him a new beer. Romano's head felt slightly fuzzy, but he picked it up and began to sip from it, staring at Legolas' ears, trying to see a seam where the makeup artist had applied the fake tips. Dammit, they were really very well-done ears. He couldn't see a line.

The elf bastard started blabbing to Prussia, and suddenly Romano couldn't take it any longer. He _had to know!_ With a cry of "Chigi!" he reached up and yanked on Legolas' ear.

"What are you doing?" The elf angrily jerked away from his grip.

Romano then turned to Gimli, who had rushed over, and tugged on his beard. "Fake beard! Fake damn ears!" he muttered. Why wouldn't they come off?

"What kind of behavior is that?" Gimli roared, grabbing Romano by the front of his shirt and shaking him.

Prussia grabbed Romano, swinging him out of the way, and tried to babble an apology, but the irritable Italian struggled in his arms, yelling, "Stupid filmmakers! Fake ears, fake fucking beards!"

The members of the Fellowship rallied in defense of their friends. While Legolas, now red-eared, merely frowned, all the others were boiling with rage. The pissed-off Merry jumped on the table and punched the albino in the face, just as Denmark and England pelted up to the scene. "Bloody _hell_ , Romano," England snarled, grabbing his rude and drunk boyfriend from Prussia and flinging him to the ground. Romano scuttled under the table immediately.

By now this corner of the party had become a melee. The three remaining nations fought the legitimately angry Gimli, Merry, Pippin and Sam, while Legolas pleaded with them all to stop, insisting that their friend was merely drunk, that it was trivial. No one listened to him; they continued to fight and roar. Romano watched fearfully, hoping nobody would pull him out into the fight. _Dammit!_ Why couldn't he have kept his stupid hands to himself?

Several other hobbits tried to help Sam, Pippin and Merry against the albino potato and England, but the two nations threw the little people aside easily. It looked like Denmark, struggling against the dwarf, was the only one in serious trouble; that Gimli was a fighter, but so was Den. Hopefully his friend could beat the bastard.

Shit. Romano stayed under the table and watched, completely sober now. If this was the stupid movie set, they were toast, and England would probably be in huge trouble. Maybe he'd have to pay fines or something?

And if it wasn't the movie set? How the hell could they escape? He looked around and found the rucksack and England's staff, pulling them into his arms in preparation for a quick getaway.

Six hobbits piled on Prussia at once, knocking him to the ground, but he stood up with a roar and flung them all off at once like some kind of god emerging from a volcano. "Arthur! _Können wir fliegen?" (Can we fly?)_ Why the hell was he speaking German?

England's reply was also in that language. _"Muss die Kerze anzünden! Kannst es finden?"_ _(Have to light the candle! Can you find it?)_ He punched Pippin in the face; the hobbit threw him to the ground and they began to wrestle.

"Den? _Wo ist unser Beutel?" (Where is our bag?)_

"Under the table! With Romano!" The Viking bellowed this out in English, still struggling with Gimli.

"Romano! _Die Kerze finden!" (Find the candle!)_

Chigi, that albino bastard was a fucking irritant. "Shut up, you stupid potato! I don't want to speak your damn language! I've got it here."

"How the bloody hell am I supposed to light the damn – urgh – thing?" the island nation growled, taking a knee in the gut from Pippin. "Gilbert! Help me out," he begged.

Prussia dealt Merry a strong blow, knocking him backwards, and came to England's aid, shoving between his friend and Pippin. "Go. Make a distraction," he hissed. "Then they'll back off long enough to get away!" He began to fight, leaving England free to snag the bag and his staff from Romano and run to a space in the road.

A big hobbit that they hadn't met yet ran after him. Shit, Romano hoped they could all escape from this mess! He hoped that big bastard hobbit actor wasn't beating England up in the road. Anxious, he stayed hiding under the table, not able to see England, though Den and Prussia were still ferociously defending themselves. Then suddenly a roar went up from the crowd: a roar of awe, not of anger. The hobbits that Romano could still see stopped their fighting and turned around; most of them simply gave up what they were doing and loped off. What the fuck?

The albino potato threw off Pippin one last time; that hobbit, eye swollen shut, looked towards his family and friends, grinned, and ran off, calling out, "Come away, Merry! Fireworks! Just like in old Gandalf's time!"

Merry, who had been lying on the ground moaning, leaped up and smiled as well, chasing after his friend. Sam shook his head and followed. "Get out of here!" he yelled hoarsely over his shoulder, leaving a bemused Prussia standing bleeding and panting next to Legolas (who had not taken part in the fight at all), and Denmark still fiercely grappling with Gimli.

"Come on, wankers!" they heard. "Bring Romano!"

Denmark obligingly flung Gimli across the picnic table, where he fell with a thump. Then, bleeding, cursing, bruised, he and Prussia each bent down and grabbed one of Romano's arms, dragging him out from underneath the picnic table and running to England's side. There was the big hobbit that Romano had noticed before. He stood to the side, scowling, with his arms crossed, tapping a hairy foot as if waiting for something. But at least he wasn't fighting England.

"What do we do?" Den gasped, holding his side.

"Face the candle, hold hands." The island nation, bleeding as well, put the strap of the bag over his arm and handed the staff to Den, who tucked it under his arm. England took a hand each of Prussia and Romano, and began the chant to go home. The Italian watched the big hobbit frown, but at the last second he thought the bastard waved at them sadly.

…

They appeared in England's Sanctum within seconds. England dropped the rucksack and immediately swiveled to punch Romano in the nose. "Ow! You fucking _bastard!_ What the hell are you doing?" He tried to storm out of the room but Prussia grabbed him.

"You totally deserved that, Romano," he wheezed, flinging the half-nation against the bookcase. Ouch. Wow, the albino potato looked bad – a cut on his face oozed blood, and he had a black eye already.

Denmark nodded agreement. "What the hell was the matter with you?" He looked down at his torn, stained clothing, his bruised knuckles. "Shit, I'd expect something like that from Prussia, but not you. I thought you had manners." He pressed a hand to his ribs again. "Shit," he wheezed.

"Come on; let's all go up to the kitchen and get cleaned up." England, bleeding freely from his nose, tossed the rucksack into the corner of the room, lay his staff on the floor, and headed up the stairs, pressing the hem of his shirt to his face.

Romano followed slowly. At least it seemed nobody was going to hit him again. Fuck, his nose hurt! England was going to pay for that.

Or…well…maybe not. The blond looked pretty bad. Maybe Romano should go easy on him. It might make his own situation less painful, too. He knew he was in deep shit.

"Well? What the hell were you thinking?" Prussia asked, once they'd reached the kitchen.

"I – I'll talk to England about it later." He collapsed into a chair. "Who was that big guy?" he asked, trying to change the subject. "Bouncer kind of bastard?"

"Don't change the subject, git. You'll talk about it now, and you'll talk about it to all three of us. In case you hadn't noticed, we all fought to keep you safe, so you didn't have to get involved, though you started it. Tell us what the bloody hell you were thinking." England threw Prussia a dishtowel, which he soaked under cold tap water before dabbing at his face. "You pulled on his _ears?_ "

"Whatever it was, it was stupid. You're a total _Arschloch_ , Romano. No wonder nobody wants to be friends with you."

"Shut up, you stupid potato head." He hid his face in his hands. Shit, a whole afternoon full of lectures, he'd bet. Not that he didn't deserve it, though.

"Were you that drunk?" England wondered, finally mopping up his own injuries. "Here, Den, here's an ice pack." He handed this to Denmark. Then to Romano again, "I can't believe you could behave so bloody badly."

"Fake fucking movie bastards," the half-nation muttered.

"You've got to be kidding. You still think it was a setup?" Denmark alternated holding the bag to his ribs and then his temple. "Listen, why would England lie to you?"

"For a prank! You know how we are with each other. It's just so stupid. _Middle-Earth_." He snorted and then cradled his head in his hands, resting his elbows on the table. Fuck, yes, he knew he'd behaved badly. Yes, he could blame some of it on the beer, but in his heart he knew most of it was just due to his antagonism. He didn't want people to think he was stupid enough to fall for that shit!

Romano felt a gentle touch on his back and raised his head to see England standing beside him. Amazed, he watched as the blond knelt down next to his kitchen chair. "You should know I'd never try to – to trick you. Not after before." He could see England's cat collar, and he felt like the lowest of the low. "Even if I wanted to prank these two gits," his friend went on, "I'd only do it with your connivance. I did my best to provide a legitimate and unusual adventure for you all."

The brunet took a deep breath. "I – I know you meant well, bastard. All of you. I – I'm sorry I behaved so – so shamefully. It was stupid."

"But there's something more," England suggested, not a question.

He nodded. "N-nobody else really believes in your magic," he replied in a weak tone. "I hear nations always laughing about it, saying that all you really do is dress up in Harry Potter costumes and light incense and shit like that. I hate being the butt of jokes, hate it so much. And if the other nations found out – dammit, I can just imagine all the crap I'd hear about it. Even my idiot brother doesn't believe in your magic, and he believes in goddamn _tomato fairies_. I – I don't want to bring ridicule on myself." Romano still felt miserable, but knowing the pranks they'd played on others, how could he ever be sure this hadn't been a prank?

"And you didn't want to be tarred with the same brush," Denmark nodded, coming to sit at the table. "I can kind of understand that. If you 'fell for it,' as you say, then you'd look bad to a lot of nations, not just us."

"Well, that'd be true if, _if,_ Arthur had pranked all three of us, but it wasn't a prank!" Prussia took the third chair; England finally got off the floor and sat in the remaining chair. "It really was Middle-Earth. That big guy in the road was The Shire, wasn't he? Wasn't he?" he asked England eagerly.

"What?" Romano could not believe this. "Don't try to pull that shit."

"Yes, that was the personification of The Shire. I'd have liked to talk to him, but…no." He scowled at Romano. "Git."

Prussia frowned too. "That would have been awesome."

"Pfft. Yeah." Den kicked the leg of Romano's chair. "And I wanted to talk to Gimli some more, check out his axe."

Romano kept silent. His brain hurt; all these thoughts swirled around in his head and he couldn't think straight. "Fuck," he said, to let them know he wasn't falling for it.

The island nation cleared his throat and asked Romano, "Do you not want to go on any more adventures with us?"

Prussia blinked. "You mean you're still willing to take us, after this? That's cool."

"Well, you know, I do like hanging out with you wankers. And I like a bit of adventure in my life, and I like creating opportunities for you to have fun, too. We always seem to enjoy ourselves, and this is a little thing I can do that no one else can offer, like when you take us to the Nürburgring. Without this, I'd probably be sitting home alone a lot, when Romano was busy with you two."

Romano felt like a dick, at that. He'd not even considered England's rationale for this, or how he would feel if they all stopped having the adventures. Could he man up enough to deal with it properly? "I – I'm sorry," he repeated, rubbing his forehead, staring at the tabletop. "I was a total shithead. Didn't think about your feelings," he growled, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. He was encouraged by this calm and rational discussion, instead of a lot of arguing, even though it made him feel so bad. Maybe he could be more flexible, he thought in misery. "C-could you prove it, though? Prove it was really Middle-Earth?"

All three of his friends thought about this. "I can't," England finally conceded. "There's nothing that happened today that could prove it was real. I'm sorry. It was real, and I know it, but I can't offer you proof."

"Well. What about this?" Prussia leaned his chair back on its rear legs, grinning. "Next time – if Romano is willing to go – we go to a place that's more unusual. Like, maybe Oz, or Narnia, or some other place with magical creatures that don't exist here?"

"We could do that. If you meet a talking animal – one that could absolutely not be an actor in a costume – and speak with him, or her, will that convince you?"

"But you have to promise to behave!" Denmark admonished.

Romano reached out his hands to England and Denmark, smiling bravely at the albino potato who sat across from him. "Let me sleep on it, bastards, okay? I'll let you know in the morning." Dammit. He had deserved that punch, but he didn't deserve such supportive and understanding friends.

…

 _Arschloch = asshole_


	187. The Emerald City I

**The Emerald City I.** ( The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum)

"I wish I knew where Arthur was taking us," Prussia laughed, as the three friends headed towards London. "He told me I could wear whatever I wanted!" He gestured towards the tie-dye hoodie, this time paired with black jeans and green high-top sneakers, the sunglasses perched on his head.

Denmark wore the basics: red tee, black jeans, boots. "I know. It's bound to be fun if he's letting me bring my cultural artifact." He patted the axe's handle.

Romano just grunted, which put Prussia and Den on instant alert. "Now, listen, Romano. No beer! You've got to behave today. Got to!"

"I know, stupid. I plan to. As for _beer_ …pfft."

"Do you know where we're heading?"

"No fucking idea." He wore all black, as usual. "We'll find out soon enough."

When they rang England's doorbell, the door swung mysteriously open, with the island nation nowhere in sight. "Uh…Arthur?"

"Muhahahaha!" he laughed, from somewhere. They couldn't spot him. "Go into the kitchen, wankers," he added, in his regular voice.

"Dammit," Romano whispered, clinging to Den for protection as they squeezed into the small kitchen. "I hate this spooky shit."

"Boo," England said softly, behind them.

Both Romano and Denmark jumped, though Prussia stayed calm. "Hey, how are you?" He hugged the blond. "You look like a leprechaun." Deep green in color, his casual clothes matched his eyes.

His friends snorted with laughter while England scowled. "I have my reasons. Shut it."

"Yes, all right, Arthur. Sorry."

"I know. Anyway, are you all ready? Romano? Going to behave?"

"Yes, yes, yes, I promise." He gave England a brief hug. "I don't want to piss you off again, or get you all beat up."

"Hey!" Prussia corrected with a grin. " _We_ are the ones who do the beating up! Kesesese!"

"Cheh, whatever. Where are we going, bastard?"

The blond beamed at them, gesturing towards the basement stairs. "We're off to see the Wizard."

…

"Woohoo!" Prussia stood in amazement, because they had simply appeared in the middle of the busy Emerald City street and no one had given them a second glance. "Arthur, this is still so cool!" He spun in place, staring at all the scurrying people, busy with their day jobs, or whatever. "Why isn't anyone paying attention to us?"

"We're invisible, at the moment."

Den and Prussia gaped, but Romano snorted. "Prove it."

"Simple. Go talk to someone. Or walk in front of a horse, or a person. Just don't do anything to disrupt them."

The Italian shrugged, but nervously made his way to a soldier or guard type of man standing at the side of the road with a pike in his hand. The man, wearing little round green glasses, yawned. "Excuse me," Romano said loudly; the man jumped and whipped his head around, as if trying to find the source of the words.

Romano shook his head and stood right in the man's field of vision, waving back and forth, but it truly seemed as though he was invisible. England dragged the other two to his side, gently plucking the now-silent half-nation's sleeve and shifting him away from the guard. "Watch out, I'm going to make us visible." He shook his hands free of the sleeves of his sweater, and then performed a complicated wave and a two-syllable chant.

Nothing looked any different, but the guard leaped back in alarm, because they'd materialized very close to him. "Oh!" Prussia grabbed him to steady him. "Are you all right? Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

The man seemed to recover, but before he could speak, Romano poked England. "This isn't the Emerald City," he pointed out. "It's not green." And that was true. Trees had typical brown trunks, people wore vibrant, many-colored clothing, and standard-colored horses pulled plain wooden carts. Red poppies grew by the side of the road, and a white chicken pecked its way along the gutter, searching for food.

"Of course the city is green," the guard said, somewhat warily, his gaze flicking from the manic, bouncing Prussia to the blade of Denmark's axe, towering over their heads.

"Cheh, it is to you, because you're wearing green glasses!"

The man blinked. "Oh, of course. You four are breaking the law. You must wear green glasses."

"Well, that sucks," Den laughed, "because we don't have any." He turned to England. "Unless you brought some?"

"No, but we should be able to get some at the gate. Come along. Thanks for the reminder," he called back to the guard as they hurried away. "And please moderate your language here," he asked his friends, eying Romano specifically.

"I'm confused," the brunet admitted, nodding to acknowledge the request. "I always thought the Emerald City was green. Thus the name 'Emerald'?"

But he remained calm, if sarcastic, and the other three were proud of him. "Well, there is a bit of a continuity problem," the island nation explained as they walked. "Baum, you know, the author, he – he didn't always remember what he'd seen, or something. I'm not even sure how many times he visited. His first book told of Dorothy and her friends meeting the Wizard, right? That's what they used for the famous movie." He waited for confirming nods before continuing. "At that time, he wrote that the Emerald City was not really green, but that the Wizard made everyone wear the green glasses. But in later books he wrote that it was in fact built of emeralds and gold, and he never mentioned the green glasses again. I – I have only been here once before, and it was like this, and so I have to wonder whether he embellished the truth for his readers. That was a rather poor era, and maybe these fantastic tales of great wealth ignored were a way to drum up readership and sell more books. Escapism, with a luxurious twist."

"You know what," Prussia suggested. "It was fun not knowing where we were going to end up today, but I think you should tell us ahead of time from now on. Then we could read the books or watch the movies, or whatever."

"That's a great idea, T. K." Den patted his head. "Get a little vacation research done, sort of."

"All my ideas are great ideas."

Predictably, Romano snorted at that; England patted his shoulder. "You're doing well," he whispered.

"Bastard," the brunet hissed with a grin, low enough that no natives could overhear.

However, nobody paid much attention to them as they walked, except to keep an eye on the axe, until they reached the gate. "Here, now!" the gate guard bellowed. "You're breaking the law!"

"We are aware of it," England said calmly. "We hoped you might have some spare glasses for travelers."

"Oh." He seemed taken aback. "Y-yes, I do. Thank you for asking." He held out a box full of green spectacles and each of the nations put on a pair; Prussia had to hang his own sunglasses from his collar.

"Thanks!" Den shook the man's hand after he'd put them on. "Wow. It really is emerald now."

"Well? Well? What do we do now?" Prussia danced along the road.

"I suppose you want to meet some famous Oz people, yeah? Let's go to the palace." England gestured towards the center of the city.

"You look funny in those little round glasses," the albino laughed.

"And you don't? Shut it."

They walked in silence, with all three of the Skirmish Brothers gawking at everything they'd seen so far. "This still doesn't prove it," Romano pointed out.

"Prove what?" a soft, sweet voice said from nearby. "Visitors in the Emerald City seeking proof of something?"

The four travelers stopped walking and looked around for the source of the voice. Then England got a grin on his face and walked to the side of the road, leaning against a green lamppost. "Well? What is it?" Denmark asked, hurrying after him. Prussia followed, but Romano stayed in the road, eyes narrowed, while he searched for the speaker.

England jerked his chin towards the dust at his boyfriend's feet. "Look there."

All of them glanced down at the street. Something sat there – stood there – something? Like a mirage, shifting and twisting, difficult to see. Prussia squinted, but Romano apparently had a better view. "An invisible cat?" he asked, hands on hips. "That's a good one. Where's the ventriloquist?"

"I'm not 'invisible,'" the cat pointed out acerbically. "I'm _glass._ Transparent. See? You can see my ruby heart, and as for my eyes, they're emerald."

Romano shrugged and bent down to peer at it. "Yes, they are," he conceded. "And you're the one talking to me?" His friends watched with bated breath, hoping he wouldn't explode or do something rude.

"Of course I am," the cat replied. "Read my lips."

He laughed. "Cats don't have lips."

This evoked a sneer from the transparent feline. "You are aware of what I meant, I'm sure." She absently groomed a glass paw with a clear tongue before turning back to him and asking, "Are you going to introduce yourself?"

"Kesesese! He's doing very well!"

"I heard that, ba-Prussia." The brunet hunkered down and extended his hand to the cat. "My friends call me Romano."

She tilted her head before generously placing a paw into the palm of his hand. "And I am known as Bungle."

"Bungle? That's a weird name for such a beautiful creature," Den burst out.

The cat looked at the three of them by the side of the road, and then back to Romano. "I might be persuaded," she offered, "to allow you to carry me, and then I can talk to all your friends more easily?"

Romano seemed to understand that the cat considered this a great honor, and so he replied, "I would be delighted, _Signorina_ Bungle." He held out his arms and she crept daintily into them, settling down as he rose to his feet.

Prussia and Denmark hurried over. "Wow! So you're an awesome talking cat."

"I did just say that," she pointed out.

Den laughed. "May I pet you? We have no glass cats at home."

"You may," she condescended. Den and Prussia took turns petting her, and her purrs grew louder as she nestled into the snug hold of Romano's arms.

"Hey," that nation called to England, who had stayed by the lamppost. "Coming over here, or what?"

He pushed himself up and joined them. "Good morning, Miss Bungle. My name is England, and these are my friends Denmark and Prussia."

"Kesesese! Pleased to meet you!"

"You mentioned wanting proof? Proof of what?" She turned her elegant head towards Romano, who had the grace to blush.

"Never mind," he stammered, "I – I think I got my proof."

Prussia cackled with laughter and petted the glass head again. "Wow – you're actually purring!"

"It's quite comfortable in Romano's arms."

At that, Romano blushed again, and England smiled fondly at him, raising his eyebrows. "Ah, come along, gits. Let's go to the palace."

The brunet, with Bungle, dawdled in the back of the group, and they could hear them speaking to each other, but Den had a different concern. "L. Frank Baum was American, right? So, has America ever been here?"

"Hey, yeah! Awesome question, even though I'm the brains of this group."

England snorted before responding. "America is the most lazy-arse wanker that ever lived. He just keeps recycling the same old stuff, and embellishing it a little, instead of coming back to do actual new research. He says he 'can't be bothered,' even though he keeps making Oz-related entertainment."

"I did notice that. Not just with Oz," Den admitted, "but he recycles a lot of stories and plots."

"Be fair, though. Arthur does too. Everything always seems to go back to Shakespeare."

"You really are a git, Gilbert. Anyway, it's just up here." The island nation gestured to the palace and turned back to make sure Romano was all right.

Apparently he was. He and the cat, deep in conversation, didn't even notice. "Hey! Romano!" Denmark reached the axe back and poked his friend in the shoulder with the butt end. "Pay attention so you don't get lost."

"S-sorry. Miss Bungle was just telling me about some m-m-magical tomatoes they have around here." He blushed so deeply that even the cat chuckled.

"You do love your tomatoes," Prussia conceded. "Maybe we can find them later? But we're almost at the palace now."

"And," the cat said softly, "while it's very gentlemanly of you to call me 'Miss' Bungle, it's not strictly necessary." She made a noise that sounded like a discreet cough, placing her paw in front of her mouth.

"Very well," the brunet smiled. "'Bungle' it is."

Together the four friends and the cat stepped into the palace grounds. "This is pretty nice," Denmark said, looking around nonchalantly.

Hah. Prussia knew that look. Bet Den was trying not to look like a tourist! "Kesesese! Hey, we should have made some kind of a bet."

"What kind of a bet?" Den asked with interest, while England rolled his eyes.

"I don't know. How come I always have to come up with the awesome bets? Let's try to think of one for next time, though."

"Suits me. Romano?"

"Cheh, sure, whatever, bas—you guys."

They all laughed and then entered the palace itself, which had many people – these dressed in actual green (Prussia knew this because he kept pushing his green glasses down to check on things) – thronging around. "Step over there," the cat directed Romano, and he beckoned his smiling friends with a jerk of his head.

Inside a large, empty, quiet room, they found four seats in a row along one wall, and sank gratefully into them. Den propped the axe against the wall, and Romano helped the informative Bungle to sit on his lap. "What room is this?" he asked her, turning to England in case he knew. "Why have such a big room with nothing in it?" A long pillared corridor stretched away from them, leading to somewhere so distant that they couldn't make it out.

But before he got his answer, the Doppler sound of an approaching scream startled them all, although Bungle did not run off. A very young blond girl ran right up to Romano and slapped him in the face, still screaming incoherently.

"What? What the hell? I mean, I – uh – " He stood up abruptly and Bungle leaped gracefully to the floor, moving off to the side.

"What's going on here?" Den stood up and loomed over the screaming child.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourselves! How dare you make fun of my friends!" she yelled, shoving him away. "You can't hold a candle to them. _Courage_ , hah!" She kicked the panicked, frozen Romano, this time, before turning to Den and shrilly shrieking, "A heart! A _heart!_ You have no heart! Nobody with a heart could do this, you meanie!" She shoved him again and, amused, he let himself fall back into the chair. Then, to Prussia: "If you did have a brain, you wouldn't dare mistreat this poor cat inside the palace!" She kicked his shin for good measure. And finally to England: "And you call yourself a _wizard_? You couldn't _stop_ 'em? Come along, Bungle, do!"

Denmark, to stop her hurting his friends, brought his axe down between her and them like a gate, still trying to remain polite, though Prussia could tell he was getting irritated by the noise. "Stop."

But this action made things worse. Her shouts changed to an arbitrary shrill scream, high and panicky, and she ran off. "I'm going to tell Ozma about you! How dare you threaten me with an axe? You'll be in big trouble! Mocking my friends! An _axe!_ Help, Ozma! _"_ Comments of a similar nature dwindled as she ran away down the long corridor.

Romano stood staring, his eyes wide and breathing labored, the mark of her handprint reddening on his face; Den rested the axe against the wall again.

"Wh-what on earth was all that about?" Prussia wondered, watching her run off. He bent down to rub his bruised calf. "Iggy?"

Bungle hadn't left, though. "I do apologize," she said, calmly, pacing back and forth. "You meat people are so emotional. I don't get emotional, you see, because I'm glass. No glands."

"Who was that little girl?"

"That? That was the Princess' best friend. Her name's Dorothy."

Prussia's jaw dropped. "Th- _that_ was _Dorothy?_ But she was just a little girl!" He'd always thought of Dorothy as – well, as Judy Garland.

"Dorothy is only eleven," Bungle pointed out. "As such, apparently she has more emotional mood swings than older people. I can't be certain but it always seems that way. I never cared enough to find out." She began grooming her ears.

"Why the h—why did she smack me?" Romano finally wondered, rubbing his cheek.

"It sounded like she thought we were mocking her friends? My guess is she thought you were taking the mickey out of the Cowardly Lion." England didn't smirk at all, but Romano narrowed his eyes at that.

Den understood, though. "My axe. My axe! She thought I was making fun of the Tin Woodsman! And T. K. mocking the Scarecrow!" He hooted with laughter.

"Cheh, well, she got that right. No brains in there." Romano flopped back into the seat and flicked Prussia in the forehead.

"Ow," the albino laughed, giving Romano a little shove. "Seriously, though? That's kind of backwards. She didn't even give us a chance to explain, just ran right up and smacked Romano!"

"Well, she is only eleven, Gilbert. Little kids are like that. Remember when we were little?"

All four of them grew silent, thinking about the temperamental little kids they'd been. (Romano snorted, and Prussia knew just what he was thinking, so he winked.) "You're still a childish bastard," the brunet growled under his breath, rolling his eyes and laughing a little.

England's concerns were a little more immediate. "What's this Princess like?" he asked Bungle. "Are we actually likely to be in some kind of real trouble?"

"It's hard to say. Sometimes she's nice, but sometimes she's very arbitrary. I used to have the most beautiful pink brains – you could see 'em work – but she had them removed and replaced with clear ones, because she thought I was getting above my station." The cat coughed delicately. "It didn't daunt me at all. You see I'm just as beautiful. Possibly even more so, because the sight of the brains isn't there to distract my admirers."

But the four friends had stopped listening to Bungle's self-praise and all stood up together. Marching feet could be heard; a young woman dressed all in green advanced down the long corridor at the head of a small group of twelve well-dressed soldiers. "Uh – ba-uh – England? Maybe we ought to get out of here?"

But Denmark's axe flew away by magic and landed in the outstretched hand of a soldier, who passed it to the back of the group. The princess Ozma, a tall and slender girl, stepped forward and announced, "You are hereby under arrest for carrying weaponry in the palace and threatening our citizens! Take them to the jail!"

"Wait, wait, please wait a minute, please," England argued, stepping forth, hands up in protest. "We have come in good faith to visit your –"

"And I need my axe –"

" _Take them to the jail!_ " she demanded, and the soldiers hastened to do her bidding. Two of them went with her – taking Den's axe – and the other ten escorted the prisoners away.

"Hey, wait, you stupid –"

Den clapped his hand over Romano's mouth and held him while he struggled. "Don't make it worse."

Romano went limp and nodded, so Denmark let go of him. "Come on," he hissed to England. "Uh – _lass uns gehen?" (Let's go?)_

"No speaking in code," one of the soldiers rapped out.

"No speaking at all," another one said.

 _Scheisse,_ Prussia thought. Now what?


	188. The Emerald City II

**The Emerald City II.**

Five minutes later the four of them had been "incarcerated" in a nice green manor home on the outskirts of the city. The soldiers flung them into soft, comfortable couches in a large library that had a roaring, applewood-scented fire already going. "This is prison?" Prussia asked in disbelief.

"Yes."

"Prisons are supposed to be cold and miserable," Romano pointed out. "To punish the prisoners."

"Shh! Don't give them ideas!"

But the head soldier laughed. "That's a sure way to make a criminal stay a criminal. We hope that by treating you well, you'll see the error of your ways, and want to go straight." He saluted. "The home is under guard. Do not attempt to escape."

They listened to the sound of retreating boots and then as if by instinct congregated in the center of the library. "Well? Can we get out of here?" Romano wondered quietly.

England shook his head no. "Can't. Can't go without Denmark's axe. We can't leave anything here, and we can't take anything away from the magical worlds, either. We'll have to figure out some way to get it back, and as soon as we do, we can go."

"This sucks big-time." Den flopped into a chair.

The brunet scowled at him from across the room. "Why'd you bring the damn thing, anyway?"

"Hey, I'm a fighter, Romano! Just shut up and think about how we can get the axe back."

Prussia had an idea. "Can you pull it to us by magic? Like Harry Potter does with his _Accio_ spell?"

"Could try it. Maybe you gits had better leave the room, so nobody accidentally gets his head cut off as the axe flies in." The island nation grinned mirthlessly.

" _Can_ we leave the room? Maybe we could just leave the house, despite what they said." Romano peeked out the window. "He said it was under guard, but I don't see anyone."

"Pfft. Don't risk it. If they split us up we could be in real trouble. Plus we still wouldn't have the axe, and we don't know where to get it." England shooed the three of them towards a different door. "See if there's anything to eat in here, or some tea. I'll call you when I've got it."

They left the room. "Shit."

"Kesesese! Better get all your swearing out, while we have the chance." They found a kitchen; Prussia and Den began to rummage in cabinets (which all seemed to be empty).

"Fucking stupid shithead potato." But they could all tell Romano's heart wasn't in it. "At least you can't blame this one on me."

"True. Well, there's nothing in here," the Viking said, slamming the last cabinet door. "Fuck."

England appeared. "No go."

"What? Why?"

"Guess my magic's different, that's all." He pulled out a kitchen chair and sat. "I wonder what's going to happen next."

Prussia joined him. "Arthur, tell me something. I've been wondering about this and I didn't pay much attention on the Shire day. How much time passes in the real world, while we're here? If we stayed overnight, would it be tomorrow when we got back?"

"Time is time," the island nation sighed. "Nothing can slow it or change it." He flashed his wristwatch at them. "No matter where we go, no matter what we do, that clock, the clock in London, is always running **."**

"So…if we don't come back tonight, West will worry?"

"Pfft. Depends. What did you tell him?"

"I didn't tell him anything, because I didn't know where we were going!"

Romano kicked him. "Stupid. He'll probably just think we're on a drinking binge or something."

"Oh, right! Kesesese! Didn't think of that."

Denmark laughed. "We need to do that again one of these days."

"Shh." England held up his hand for silence. "Someone's coming."

Strange quiet footsteps approached from outside on the gravel. "Bungle, maybe?" Den wondered. "Someone lightweight. Not a soldier."

They heard a knock at the door, so the four of them walked out to answer it.

"Whoa, the awesome Scarecrow!" Prussia yelled with a grin, reaching out to shake his hand. "And – and – and – someone I don't know! Come in!"

"Git. This isn't a home for us to entertain in."

But the grinning Scarecrow and his companion pushed forward into the house. "It's quite all right," he told them, shooing them towards the library. "I've spoken with Ozma and have gotten permission to come visit you."

His companion, a garishly-colored person that they might have called 'Scarecrow-ish,' now spoke.

"One and three and two  
We're here to talk to you!  
A bunch of fuss  
Has come to us  
And this is nothing new!"

She bowed.

"Wh-who?" Romano managed.

"Oh! Forgive me, do," the Scarecrow told them all. "May I present my charming companion, Miss Scraps Patchwork."

England introduced the friends. "We're terribly sorry to have caused any trouble. We merely came to see the sights. My friend's axe is actually considered a cultural artifact." All four nations suppressed smiles.

"Hmm." The Scarecrow gestured to them to sit, and everyone did so, staring at this famous character and his oddball companion.

Scraps was indeed patchwork – it appeared as though she'd been sewn together out of an old quilt, and when they shook her hand it felt like a glove stuffed with cotton. She had a most unusual expression on her face – almost goggle-eyed – and acted extremely deferential towards the Scarecrow, whom she clearly adored. "What are we gonna do now?" she asked him. "They're probably not really in trouble. Ozma likes to overreact and ask questions later."

"Hmm," the Scarecrow said again, his straw crackling. "If only the Wizard were here, he could tell us what to do."

"Kesesese! I thought you were the famous brains of the outfit! Why do you need the Wizard to help you?" Prussia leaped up and shook his hand again. This was awesome! He and the Scarecrow stood in the center of the room, grinning and shaking madly, and then the straw man's hand fell off. "Uh? Whoops!" The albino held it in the air, wildly embarrassed.

"Oh, don't worry about it," the Scarecrow told him, reaching out with his other hand to take it back, while the four nations stared in amazement, holding their breath. "Happens all the time. I can get someone to sew it back on for me."

"Y-you're sure?" Wow, Prussia was really relieved. He'd been afraid this would make their 'jail' stay even longer!

"Yes, it's fine." He put the hand into a pocket. "Remind me to get that taken care of," he told Scraps.

"It's that Dorothy's fault," Scraps said unwisely. "It always is. She goads Ozma into these snap decisions. I talked to Bungle before we got here and she confirmed it. If she hadn't done that, your elegant hand would still be attached!"

The Scarecrow turned to her in distress. "Please don't speak ill of my friend Dorothy!"

"You know it's true." She cleared her throat and began another one of her quirky poems.

"Dorothy likes to shout,  
She lets her temper out.  
If she don't stop  
I'll take a mop  
And hit her on the snout! Ha ha!"

Scraps applauded her own recitation. The still-embarrassed Prussia wondered if he should clap too, just to be friendly, but by the time he'd decided to do it, the Patchwork Girl had begun pacing the room, examining all the knick-knacks and standing well clear of the fire.

"Look, this isn't solving anything." England's distress was clear to see. He appealed to the Scarecrow. "We don't want to cause trouble, and we don't want to be _in_ trouble. If we could just get Denmark's axe back, we'd go." Romano looked sad at this, but nobody wanted to get into a big discussion right now. Maybe he wanted to say goodbye to Bungle?

The Scarecrow paced some more. "We could bring you the axe," he finally said. "I can distract the guards while Scraps heroically dodges in to fetch it, and once we were out of the palace nobody would bother us."

"Awesome, a stealth mission! Can I help?"

"Red-eyed man, you're a prisoner," the Scarecrow pointed out. "Stay here. Obey the law."

"Such as it is," Scraps added absently, picking up a china cherub.

"Do you think you could manage to obtain the axe, my dear?" The straw man eyed her anxiously.

She simpered. "Since you have such faith in me, I'm certain that I can." She tapped her fingers against her lips. "Bungle might help. She seemed very fond of you all."

"We made her purr," Prussia laughed.

Both the visitors stared in astonishment. "That's amazing," the Scarecrow confessed. "She's never usually happy enough to purr."

Romano smirked, but Scraps added, "She's just an old sourpuss. I bet she avoids purring just to spite us all."

The friends all grinned at this. "So you'll try to get his axe for us?" England asked, still trying to focus. "What happens if the plan fails?"

"My plans never fail," the Scarecrow announced, one finger pointing to the sky.

"Huh. I've heard that before." Romano muttered this loudly enough for all his friends to hear, but nobody rose to it.

"I guess we'll just wait here, then." Denmark sat back onto a couch. "How soon could we expect you back?"

"We can go right now, unless Scraps is tired?" He turned to her in concern.

"Not tired at all," she replied, standing to recite poetry once more.

"We're gonna get that axe  
Unless it's made of wax.  
Then it would bend  
Which would depend  
On getting all the facts!"

"That's so brilliant that it doesn't even make sense," the Scarecrow told her admiringly, taking her hand. "Come along. Let's go."

"We'll be back," she sang out as they left the manor house.

When the door had closed behind them, Romano snorted. "Can't believe you ripped his hand off."

"But at least it proves he's real! Arthur, you've done it again."

"I know, git."

"Anyway, I bet they're not going to be any help." Romano fiddled with the cushions on the couch.

"Are you kidding? They awesomely will. You know he's famous for his brains. Bet he's an amazing strategist."

"Yeah, all right." The half-nation fell back into a couch. "We'll see."

England slouched over and sat next to him, nudging him with his knee. "Don't worry. It's just a little mix-up. Even if they don't manage to bring it tonight, I'm sure we can explain things to Ozma in the morning and get it straightened out."

"I hope we're not here too long. I have municipal meetings all week long." Den wandered around the room much as Scraps had done, looking at book titles on the shelves and scowling.

"Kesesese! What would you rather be doing, having adventures in Oz or going to municipal meetings?" Prussia pinched his cheek.

"Going to municipal meetings!" Den roared. "Some of us actually have responsibilities, you know!"

Prussia sucked in a breath. A fight? At least a fight would help pass the time until they could get out of here. Clearly Romano didn't agree, though, because he barked out, "Yeah, albino potato, so shut the fuck up."

"What? What? Man, are you two crabby. I want to get out of here and go see more of Oz. This is the second adventure where we've gotten in trouble. I can't believe you two keep getting us into trouble!"

England sighed. "Okay, new rule. No weapons. I shouldn't have said you could bring it. Sorry, wasn't thinking. I thought it would fit right in."

"No weapons," Den agreed sadly. "I hope they don't – don't enchant it, or something, to make it different. I've had that thing since the eighth century."

"That would be very rude," the island nation said.

"More rude than throwing us in a damn jail?" Romano punched him. "This place is fucked up."

"I agree. It's not what I'd expected." England turned back to Den. "Check the bloody thing thoroughly when you get it back. If it's not right, we can stay longer and get things squared away. You might miss your first meeting, but at least this would be out of the way, and we'd have learned our lesson."

"Yeah. Okay."

…

The Scarecrow and Scraps came back with Bungle, but without the axe. "Dammit," Romano muttered, before Bungle leapt into his lap and settled down. Absently, he started stroking her smooth glassy body, waiting to see what would happen next.

"Don't worry. Don't worry a bit," the Scarecrow announced, waving both hands. "I got my hand reattached, and Scraps did a great job! She pinched the axe right out from under the guard's nose!" He beamed with pride.

"Well, but the guard was my friend Ojo," she explained, "so I did tell him I was taking it. But I promised he wouldn't get in trouble."

The straw man nodded. "True, true."

"Well, where's the axe?" Den demanded. This was so frustrating!

"Ah! Don't worry, tall man. Don't worry. Someone with a vested interest in axes is bringing it here."

"What do you mean?"

But Prussia had figured it out. "The awesome Tin Woodsman is bringing your axe, I bet."

"Correct! He wanted to examine it; it's quite ornate." The straw man skipped over to the albino and patted his white hair. "Are you sure you don't have straw in there? Because your thoughts are clearly of a very high caliber, nearly as high as mine!"

"Kesesese! Not straw, no matter what Romano may say." He gave the brunet a big smile; Romano snorted. "Still, it's logical."

"We will dodgical the logical and save the anthropological day!"

"Miss Scraps, you are very funny." Prussia shook her hand in his enthusiasm, being careful not to rip it off her arm.

Bungle coughed. "Funny is not as good as beautiful," she said, without even a hint of modesty.

"Not true!" he argued. "Funny is forever, but beauty fades." At this, Scraps smirked at the cat, sticking out her tongue.

"Not so," Bungle countered. "I'll always be beautiful; not being meat, I'll never age."

"Ha, but neither will I, Miss Cat!" Scraps poked her in the glass cheek. "I'll be funny _and_ beautiful, forever."

If the Scarecrow's eyes could shine, they would have. "Indeed you will." He patted Scraps on her patchwork head.

"Me too!" Prussia tried to twirl around in the room, but it was too crowded; then everyone got distracted by the ringing of the doorbell.

"It's him!" the Scarecrow yelled, running off.

"My axe!" Den pelted after him.

Romano sagged back into the couch cushions. "This is exhausting, ba—England," he moaned. "I just want to go home."

But then the Tin Woodsman and the Cowardly Lion both entered the small library. "Oh, dear," Bungle mewed, before leaping off Romano and running out of the room, possibly scared of getting broken in the crush.

"What have you hooligans done to make our friend Dorothy so angry?" The Lion put up his fists, glancing around as if to challenge someone, but the Tin Man pushed him aside.

"Stop all that posturing. Here is the axe," he said, and Denmark plucked it from his metal hand in relief. "It's beautiful. Quite an antique, I'd say."

"You have no idea," Prussia laughed, as Den examined it minutely.

Romano's plaintive voice floated out to them, though he was no longer visible in the crowd. "Can we please go now?"

"Calm down, git. Let's introduce ourselves like gentlemen."

"Cheh, yes, all right."

When the introductions had been performed, the Scarecrow suggested they go out onto the lawn, since the little 'prison' was so crowded.

"But we're prisoners," England said with a delicate frown. "Won't we get in trouble?"

"Not if you're leaving Oz," the straw man pointed out. "Come outside and talk for a few minutes. Even if someone sends a runner to Ozma, by the time they got back with new orders, you could be gone. And she won't really punish us."

"Not _us,"_ the Tin Man agreed.

Everyone agreed this was a sensible approach, so the group headed out to the front lawn. No soldiers were visible, but Prussia knew that if he were the ruler, he'd have them hidden, or camouflaged. Who knew what type of magic might be used to conceal soldiers?

This thought obsessed him. Magic camouflage! West's army could really use some info like that. Maybe he'd ask Arthur about it when they got back.

Or maybe not. Maybe it'd just invite more trouble. He could just imagine invisible soldiers bonking into each other, poking each other with guns, because they couldn't see each other. Hah, how stupid. Forget the invisible soldiers!

Prussia saw Bungle creep silently out of the house and crossed to her side, since everyone else was in the middle of a conversation. "Thanks for your help today."

"It was nothing, really. A minor consideration. Things get a bit boring around here for us as well."

"I hadn't thought about that. Ever been out of Oz?"

She looked up at him disdainfully. "Where in the world could be worth going to, after living my life in Oz?"

Prussia could find no answer to that, and admitted it. "Hey, Gilbert!" he heard.

"I have to go. Thank you for your help," he repeated. "Live long and prosper! Kesesese!" He jumped up and ran to join his friends, pushing through the crowd. "Axe okay?" he hissed to Den, who nodded.

"Please stand back," England requested of the Oz residents; they did, and when the four nations had joined hands, he again spoke a short spell and they faded back to reality.


	189. Planning

**Planning.**

This month's meeting, here in Baltimore, had just adjourned for the first day's lunch; the friends had opted to stay in the room and make plans for their next magical journey. Prussia had volunteered to go get take-out (as long as someone else paid for it); while they waited for him, they argued. "I wanted to see the magical tomatoes," Romano now whined, sitting at the conference table.

"We _know,_ " the other two snapped back. He'd been pestering them separately and together about those bloody tomatoes for three weeks now. Denmark slapped his hand on the table. "Listen, we'll go back there someday and get Bungle to take us there, all right? But for now, let's go somewhere different."

"Don't make me put a spell on you to shut you up," England added with a smirk. "I know I promised not to, but honestly, you're driving me mental with this tomato business."

"Is there any other place likely to have magical tomatoes?" Romano turned sad eyes to his boyfriend…

…who snorted. "Not that I know of. Of course, I could be wrong, but there's no place that I can think of with such unusual flora as Oz."

"Where should we go? Come on, let's pick a place before Teutonic Knights gets back, or he'll try to pressure us into something."

"Pfft. Why not let him? We can keep this project going as long as you want. There's no limit." England leaned back in the chair, lacing his fingers together behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. "I'd like to get some actual adventures going, instead of just sitting around talking to people."

"I agree!" Den laughed. "It's cool to meet everyone, but I want to do magic stuff, see magic stuff that the place is famous for."

"Like the magical tomatoes."

 _"Shut up!"_

Romano sighed again and rested his head on the table, addressing England. "Is there any particular place you'd care to go, bastard?"

"Nice of you to ask, but not really. I don't think I'd take you to a place I've not already visited, because we might get into even more trouble than before. I need to be confident in the lay of the land, so to speak."

"As long as the Viking bastard leaves the cutlery at home…"

"Shut up, Romano," Den told him wearily. "Just shut…the…fuck… _up_."

Thankfully, Prussia entered with the lunch to distract them from this. "Here."

"What took you so long?" Hands eagerly reached for food.

"America was there before me; he just kept ordering and ordering! Kesesese! Did we figure out where we're going next? I want to do my awesome movie research."

"Not yet." Romano sighed and dug into his Pad Thai.

"Hogwarts." Prussia nodded decisively. "Got to go there sometime."

Den shrugged. "Might as well, since we can't decide on anything else."

"Will the awesome Harry be there?"

"How the bloody hell would I know? Maybe he'll be there visiting or something. He's done with school, you remember."

"Yeah, I remember." Prussia crunched up an egg roll. "So basically it'd be teachers, and some of the younger kids? Could work out, or you could just take us shopping in Diagon Alley."

"Bastard, the only reason I'd want to go there is to meet Harry and his friends! What else is the point?"

"The point, Romano, is to have an adventure! We could – we could see the Whomping Willow, or play in a Quidditch game, or –"

"Oooh!" Denmark sat right up straight. "I would love to play Quidditch!"

"Kesesese, sure, you would make an awesome Beater, because it's like swinging your axe around and whacking your enemies. Heh."

"So for stuff like that, it wouldn't matter who the blasted students were." England licked soy sauce from his fingers, shrugging.

Den belched. "Could you notify Harry and his friends that we're coming, and would like to meet them there?"

"I…could do that!" The blond's eyes twinkled. "That would work out quite well, assuming they're all free to come visit the school. We could have a pick-up Quidditch game, probably. I know the school has plenty of brooms."

"Uh," Romano started.

"Don't worry, loverboy. You don't have to play if you don't want to. But I'd like to take you for a broom ride."

"Let's awesomely do that, then! Great thinking, Den. I'm going to have to watch out, or my title as Brains of the Group is going to pass to you."

Romano narrowed his eyes and stared. And stared some more. Then he, Denmark and England all began laughing. "Whatever you say, T. K. Whatever you say."


	190. Hogwarts I

**Hogwarts I.** (The  Harry Potter series, J. K. Rowling)

"Aw, yeah!" Prussia leaped into the air and spiked an imaginary volleyball as Arthur reached for his jacket. "Hey, hey, wait. Wait a second. Why are you wearing a jacket?"

"Moron. It's cold out." Romano kicked him.

"Oh, stop. I mean, look, he's leading us to the door. What the – Arthur, what are you doing? What about the Sanctum?"

But Denmark had figured this one out. "We're taking the train, aren't we? Leaving from platform nine and three-quarters?"

"You got it." England poked Prussia in the arm. "Can't believe you, the great Hogwarts expert, didn't think of that."

"Shut up, will you? I wasn't thinking. Put your jacket on and let's go!"

…

The Skirmish Brothers were mildly surprised to find Bulgaria and Estonia loafing around the deserted platform. "Hey, bastards. What's going on?"

England gestured to a bench and sat. "They're coming with us."

"What? Why?" Denmark hastily backpedaled. "Not that I mind, just – why you guys? Why Hogwarts?"

Bulgaria beamed. "You're going to play Quidditch, right? I – have a friend meeting us there."

The island nation and Estonia stifled grins as the other three tried to work it out; just as Prussia yelled "Viktor Krum!" the train pulled in, and they all boarded, laughing and stuffing themselves into one compartment.

"That's cool! I just – England is being so good to us," Den said, patting him on the head. "Thank you."

"Hey, you take us to bakeries, git, I'll take us to magical worlds."

Romano snorted. "No bakeries, dammit. Tell me about Quidditch."

"Kesesese! You didn't do any of your homework, did you?"

The brunet scowled at Prussia. "Yes, you moron, I did, but there's so much to keep track of! How the fuck can I be expected to play if I can't remember any of it?"

"I didn't actually think you'd play, though. Thought you'd chicken out and chat up Hermione in the stands while we awesomely zoom around on broomsticks."

"I'm going to take him for a test flight," England explained. "So he can decide."

Romano turned to England, red-faced. "Uh, that reminds me, bastard. Y-you didn't tell the – the Hogwarts people anything about any boyfriend shit, did you?"

"Of course not, wanker. Why would I do that?"

"Kesesese! If they wondered why you're going to take him up on a romantic broomstick flight, it could be a problem."

"Gilbert, you arse. No. I just told them he'd been resisting our efforts to show him some magic, and that I'd need to take him on a test flight to see if he could deal with flying. Nothing romantic about it." But the island nation was a bit pink, too.

Romano cleared his throat. "I'm – I'm not actually sure yet if I'll play the game or not. But I'd like to try." Den, nearest him, gave him a little hug, and he scowled again.

"Who's coming to see us?" Estonia wondered. "Besides Mr. Krum."

Bulgaria laughed and patted his friend on the arm with a gloved hand. "You don't have to call him Mister Krum. 'Viktor' will be fine."

"Viktor, then. Who else?"

"You know what? I bet Ron's dad will come, if he knows about it." Prussia nodded sagely.

"What? Why him?"

"You know he's crazy about Muggle stuff, right? Plugs and things, phones, escalators? Muggle stuff is rare in his world."

"Not so rare anymore," England pointed out. "The lines aren't so cleanly drawn."

Denmark agreed. "I always wondered how they could even function in the world with so little, uh, cross-contamination from Muggles? When they went to the big Quidditch World Cup or whatever, all the older wizards were dressed like total freaks, and I just can't see how they could get to that age and never once quite grasp what ordinary people wore. They do pass through the city, right?"

Estonia nodded, too. "It makes me wonder what the Hogwarts students used to wear under their robes. Harry and all the students in the books wore regular clothes with the robe over it like a coat, but – if they were trendsetters, what was the trend before them? Underwear?" He blushed a little and pushed his glasses up his nose.

"Maybe that was more author bullshit. Like with the Emerald City." Romano shrugged.

"You've been to the Emerald City?" Estonia's voice rose to a squeak. "Was it wonderful?"

"Hah! We ended up in prison," Den laughed.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!" Prussia stood up in the compartment, angry. "Doesn't anybody want to know why Ron's dad will be so excited to meet us?"

"Whatever, bastard. Sit down, calm down, and tell us why."

The albino tried to maintain a pout as he sat, but couldn't. "Well. Like I said. He's crazy for Muggle stuff. Well, we, my friends, we are even _rarer_ than Muggles. Even Muggles don't really know about us, right? So, he wouldn't pass up this chance to meet four – uh, six nations."

"Maybe."

"About that," England said. "They all call me Arthur. All right? How do you want to be introduced?"

"Awesomely as Gilbert, you know that."

"Yes, I knew that. What about the rest of you gits?"

"Human names are fine with me," Estonia smiled, and the rest of them agreed, except Romano, who hated his stupid human name.

Before they could argue that point, the train pulled into Hogsmeade station, and the six nations tumbled down onto the platform, eager to get their visit started.

…

Viktor Krum did indeed meet them at the gates to the school, where he immediately greeted Bulgaria without touching him. But the Balkan nation reached out a gloved hand to shake his citizen's hand, and Viktor smiled in astonishment. Bulgaria introduced them all, and Viktor swept his arm towards the school to lead them forward.

Romano felt like an idiot, because he had no idea who this bastard was, or why the albino potato had been so excited about meeting him. But there were too many people around for him to discreetly ask England. He hoped he could bluff his way through the day.

"Who else is here?" Prussia asked loudly.

"We're having a nice meal first," Viktor told them in his deep voice, ignoring the question. "Please come into the great hall."

That room had the feel of an outdoor dining hall, because of its enchanted ceiling. A group of people swarmed up to them, laughing, and the bastard that was obviously Harry shook England's hand with excitement. The island nation then introduced everyone, and Harry gestured to the table for the meal.

Voices began babbling, and Romano sat calmly waiting for the food and trying to pin everyone's name in his mind. Harry, no problem; nobody looked like him. The only girls here were Hermione, Ginny and Luna; each of them had a very distinctive appearance, so he knew he wouldn't get them mixed up. Everyone ate, animated, discussing the plans for the afternoon. He was content to eat and listen, instead of trying to sound knowledgeable about something he didn't understand.

But there were two redhead young men here. He knew one was Ron and one was his brother, but he couldn't really tell them apart. Bulgaria was busy speaking to one of them. "If I'd known you would be here, I would have asked if Romania could join us!"

"Ah, no problem; I just talked to him last week!"

The other redhead noticed Romano's little frown of concentration, and passed him a pitcher of juice. "My brother Charlie works in Romania," he offered.

Romano automatically took the pitcher and poured himself a drink. "So, that's Charlie, and you're Ron; okay. Thanks." Ron had the red shirt, Charlie the blue one.

Ron laughed. "Yeah, it's tough to meet a bunch of people all at once."

"I do my best." He sipped the juice. "Wow! What is this stuff? It's delicious!"

England and Harry both beamed at him. "Arthur told us you like tomatoes. This is a special juice blend with some magically-grown Hogwarts tomatoes and other vegetables from the area."

"Kesesese!"

But Romano had to fight a sappy smile. Dammit, that bastard really did love him, didn't he? Instead of the smile, he drank more juice and banged England's knee with his own, under the table.

"Git. Drink your juice."

"Why didn't you bring any girls with you?" Hermione asked, in what Romano considered a somewhat belligerent tone. Was she a feminist?

"None of them wanted to come," England replied.

"Oh, hurry up with all this chit-chat!" The albino potato had already finished eating and tried to push the bench back. "I want to go play Quidditch!"

Everyone hurriedly finished their food and jumped up to run to the Quidditch field.

…

Ron immediately led everyone to the pitch, where a bunch of brooms lay neatly arranged on the ground. But Harry drew England to the side, and England grabbed Romano's sleeve to bring him along.

When they'd gotten a little way away, Harry picked up a lone broom from the ground. "Right," he said. "This broom is suitable for two. Are you sure you'll be all right?" he asked Romano kindly.

"Yeah, yeah. This bastard won't let anything happen to me." He punched England's arm fondly, not knowing how else to show affection in front of all these strangers.

"Just remember to hold on tight!" Harry backed away while England held the broom at the right height.

"Have fun, Romano!" Prussia yelled out from the other end of the stadium.

"I – I think we will!" Yes, he was terrifically frightened, but he got on as England directed, holding him around the waist from behind.

"You're certain? All you really need to do is hold on to me, and we'll be fine. Even if you think we're falling, don't worry; just keep holding me. Understood?"

"Understood, moron." He slipped his arms around the island nation's waist and held him tightly. "And – and thanks for the magic tomato juice." He laughed a little. "Will it help me fly better?"

"No idea," England muttered, and launched the broomstick.

Wah! Romano's stomach plummeted. "Dammit, this…"

"Just shut it and hold on!"

They gained altitude in a straight line; Romano couldn't see well, because England was in the way, so he tried to look off to the side. "This is making my eyes water."

"Oh, bugger. I should have thought of that. _Accio goggles!_ " England yelled, and a pair of goggles eventually flew into his outstretched hand…his outstretched hand, which was not holding onto the broom!

"Dammit, bastard! Get a grip on the stupid broom!"

"Put these on," England retorted, tucking them into Romano's hands. When the brunet had a grip on the goggles, the island nation put both hands on the broom and circled a little, leisurely.

"How the fuck am I supposed to put them on? I need to hold you!"

He could _feel_ the bastard's stupid romantic smirk, but England slowed the broom down a little more, until they were basically flying along at a walking pace. "There. Okay?" He also lowered the broom so they were closer to the ground. "There. Now if you fall off, you'll hit your head on the grass and be done. Right?"

"Bastard." Romano struggled into the goggles. "How do I look?"

"Adorable as always, you bloody chicken. Now hold onto me again. I'm going to take us out over the lake."

"Whaaaaaa –" Romano's scream of panic dwindled as they got airborne again. "Over the l-l-lake? What if we fall off the fucking broom? We'll drown!"

"Don't be an idiot! Just remember to hold on!"

So Romano squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could, and held onto England as tightly as he could, and in a few more seconds it felt like they'd stopped. He opened his eyes very gingerly –

And shut them again as soon as he saw they were over the water. "Dammit, dammit," he muttered, unable to think of anything better to say.

"You all right? You can relax now. We can maintain this flying speed and altitude with no problem, unless you go leaping off the blasted broom."

"R-really?" He opened his eyes once more, and focused on the beautiful surrounding landscape rather than the no-doubt-ice-cold water waiting to receive them, and began to relax. The broom was indeed flying rather peacefully along, with a gentle breeze ruffling their hair.

But he didn't want to get too nonchalant about this, too soon! So he leaned forward and asked, "Who the hell is Viktor Krum, anyway?"

England laughed and explained. "Don't worry. Nobody really expects this to be some long-term group thing, and there's no bloody quiz at the end of the day, either."

So Romano gave him a little squeeze, and kissed him on the back of his neck. "Thanks, bastard. For all this. For the tomato juice, and the trips, and – well, just being good to me."

He felt England take his hands and hold them for a few seconds. "You know there's nothing else I'd rather do," the island nation confessed, as sweetly as he could with the air rushing past them.

Romano's heart rate spiked again. _"Hey!_ Get your hands back on the fucking broom! Dammit, are you trying to kill me?"

"Wanker. Trying to be nice. I keep telling you, you do _not_ need to worry! I can control the broom with my knees."

"Don't. Just – just don't. Just fly us around for a little, _with_ your hands on the stupid thing!"

He felt England sigh, but relaxed as he saw the pale hands grasp the broomstick again. "Satisfied?"

"Mostly."

"You're supposed to be paying attention to see if you want to fly solo for the Quidditch game."

"Oh! Shit, yes, I forgot all about it."

"Well? Shut it and pay attention!"

So for a few minutes, Romano tried to place himself mentally on a solo broom flight, soaring around. He had to admit it was nice. It was unusual, and dramatic, and he could really get into this!

If he wasn't afraid of falling off. He mentioned this to England.

"There's probably some spell they could do, to make sure you don't fall off."

"Okay. Let's fly for another minute or two and I'll think about it. What kind of position do you think I would end up playing? I don't want those damn great balls whacking into me."

"Well. It's possible we won't use those. It might not be fair to four newb players like you gits."

"What do you mean? You've played it before?"

"Of course I have."

Then the mathematics sorted themselves out in the Italian's brain. "What four gits? Me, Den, the albino potato, Estonia and Bulgaria, that's five, you dumbass."

"Bulgaria isn't a newb. Viktor Krum is the most famous Quidditch player there ever was!"

"Oh."

"Anyway, Gilbert was right; you can sit in the stands with Hermione and cheer us on. Luna too, I'm guessing. But if you do want to play, I bet Gilbert will suggest you play Seeker. That's actually a pretty easy job, but you have to be fast."

Romano had been wondering about broom control for a few minutes now. "Will you let me try to fly the broom myself? Out here somewhere, so neither of those dumb bastards will see me if I fall off the stupid thing?"

"Sure." England angled the broom down towards an empty field. "I won't let you take it up alone, but you can sit in front and fly it, and I'll ride behind you."

"No funny stuff," Romano cautioned, as they gently landed.

"No funny stuff." England scooted back and let Romano mount in front of him for his first-ever test flight.

…

On the pitch – or rather, above the pitch – Prussia flew loop-de-loops around everyone, screaming like a banshee and laughing so loudly it drowned the others out. Den shrugged and did a few laps around the field. This was fun! He wondered whether he could start getting his citizens interested in magic, so they could do some of these things when he was at home. He tried a Prussia-style loop-de-loop and almost fell off the broom, though, so he settled down to practice more effectively.

"You're not bad," Charlie Weasley told him, flying alongside him.

"It's easy when I'm just coasting along. I'm not sure how well I'll do when there are balls and other players and shit like that flying around."

Charlie laughed. "Don't worry about it, mate. This is just a friendly game, so unless you fall off your broom, you'll have fun."

"I'll try not to." Damn right! If Prussia or Romano saw him fall off a broom, they would never shut up about it.

…

"Right," England told Harry, handing the broom back. "We'll both play."

Harry turned to the flying players and amplified his voice by magic. "Oi! Come down and choose teams!"

Romano panicked a little, hissing to England, "What? Can't I be on your team?"

"Yes, panicky thing, Harry and I are captains, so I'll choose you, even though Gilbert is probably a more sensible choice."

"I hate you."

England smirked. "Fine. Play on Harry's team."

"Bastard…"

"All right, all right. Shut it and stand with everyone else."

Prussia landed and threw his arms around Romano. "Did you love it? Isn't it awesome? Kesesese!"

"Yes, idiot, it's awesome. Now – now calm down while they choose teams."

Teams were sorted. Harry had chosen Ron, Prussia, Denmark (to his amazement), and Charlie; England had therefore ended up with Romano, Viktor, Ginny and Bulgaria. Romano was still worried, but he hoped that having four other real players (as opposed to those bastard 'newbs' Prussia and Den) would offset any problems he might cause. Estonia allowed Hermione and Luna to lead him to the stands to watch and possibly cheer.

"Since we're playing short-handed," Harry suggested, "let's leave out the Snitch. We'll just score goals by shooting the Quaffle through the hoops. That way we don't need a Seeker, and we can use two Chasers instead of three. First team to score five goals wins. All right? For a warm-up, at least. If it's over too quickly we can have another go."

Everyone admitted that this sounded good. "Five minutes to assign roles?" England asked Harry, who agreed.

The blond drew his team into a huddle. "Let's plan our positions based on the other team. Den will be a Beater, no question," he laughed. "Will Ron play Keeper?" he asked Ginny.

"Probably. I heard him worrying, because we have Viktor and me on the team. Sorry," she apologized to the others, "but he knows my style."

"It's all right," Bulgaria told her, and Viktor agreed. Romano was a bit too nervous to speak at all.

"Who wants to be our Keeper? You'll have to watch out for Gilbert. I'm positive he'll play Chaser."

"I'll play Keeper, then," Bulgaria grinned. "I can take care of him."

"Good. I think Viktor and I should play Beater, and Romano and Ginny Chasers, since they're lighter and possibly faster."

"Chaser, Chaser," Romano muttered, trying to remember what they had to do.

"Just like football," Bulgaria said, patting him on the shoulder. "Get the ball, score a goal."

"That's _it?_ "

"Pfft. As long as Viktor and Arthur keep the Bludgers away from you, yeah!"

"We can do it." Those two nodded grimly. "Don't want anyone getting hurt," England added, carefully not looking at Romano.

"We're all okay with this?" the Italian asked, appealing to Ginny. He didn't want her to feel put upon, or anything.

She slapped him on the back. "Let's kick their butts!"

…

In Harry's team huddle, Prussia tried not to bounce up and down with exuberance. _Harry Potter_ had chosen him, Prussia, to be on his Quidditch team! "Kesesese!" he yelled out, before Den grabbed his arm and yanked on it.

"Shut up. Let Harry figure out who's playing what."

"Yeah, I got it," Harry told them. "Ron, I'm relying on you to play Keeper. One thing we know is that none of them are playing positions they're comfortable with. We don't need Seekers, so both Viktor and Ginny are going to have to do something unfamiliar."

"But Arthur's good at all the positions," Ron pointed out. "Gotta watch out for him."

"I remember." Harry shared a smile with his best friend. "Okay. So if you'll take Keeper, that'll give me some reassurance. Remember Charlie and I have to play unfamiliar positions too!" He turned to the two nations. "What do you think you'd be best at? Attacking or defending?"

"Attack, attack, attack!" Prussia yelled, jumping up and down.

Everyone laughed at him, except Den, who rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I'll take defense. Put a bat in my hand, it's as good as an axe, right?"

"Okay. I'll Chase, if Charlie will Beat."

"Deal," Charlie told him, shaking his hand.

"You all know the rules?"

"Memorized 'em last week," Den grinned, stretching.

"Cool. The bats are over here. Are you both happy with your brooms?"

"This broom is _awesome._ Wonder if I could buy it and take it home?"

"Wouldn't work," Ron pointed out. "Hogwarts brooms only work at Hogwarts."

 _"Scheisse._ Well, come on! Let's play!"


	191. Hogwarts II

**Hogwarts II.**

"Harry, have you any kind of spell that might help Romano stay on his broom? Or do you think that would be cheating?" England asked this in a low tone so his friend wouldn't be embarrassed in front of everyone else.

"I don't think it's a problem. We know you're not used to it. What about your other friends?" They all glanced back to where Prussia sat on a broom zooming around at waist-height, while Den swished a bat around to get a feel for it, narrowly missing Ron, who yelped.

"Eh. They'll probably be all right."

"Okay. Hermione probably knows something. Come on." Harry gestured to the brunet and they walked into the stands with the broom; England busied himself choosing a broom from the few that remained.

Once they'd explained the problem, she nodded. "Give me a minute…yes, all right, I know what I can do." She chanted a spell under her breath, touching Romano's broom with one hand and his arm with the other. He felt a slight tingle up his spine, but that could have been purely psychosomatic. After all, England had worked magic on him before, and he'd never felt that.

When she let go he asked, "Is that it?"

Hermione beamed. "That's it! Have fun playing!" She turned back to Luna and Estonia, who gave Romano a thumbs-up, and then Harry led him back to the pitch.

"What was that all about?" Prussia asked him, zipping past at eye level, and, of course, grinning like a fool.

"Nothing. Shut up." Romano straddled the broomstick and tentatively rose into the air a few feet. Yes! He could do it. He wondered whether Hermione might have given him extra flying powers. Would that be cheating?

Fuck it. Even if it was, he wasn't going to ask her to take them away! He snorted. Fair play, hah. He wanted to thrash the albino potato's team, even if they did have to cheat.

Soon everyone was ready and the game began.

…

At first, Denmark felt a little worried. He had to fly around, stop balls from hitting Harry and Prussia, and not get hit himself. And not run into anyone! He was so concerned about this that he simply flew around panicking for a while, randomly lunging towards Bludgers here and there just to bat them out of the way, until he heard a yell from Prussia. "Den! Stop fucking around!"

How the hell did anyone ever concentrate on this damn game? He turned to see the albino trying to outfly one of the big brutal balls, ignoring the gameplay going on around them. Den dove for it and batted it away. "Got it," he yelled, but it circled around and headed towards Harry, so he aimed for that area. Who would have thought flying around on a broom required all this energy? He was exhausted already.

Harry tried to score, but Bulgaria made a save. "Bloody hell," he heard Ron mutter, behind him at the goal.

England swooped by and hit a Bludger right at him. "Damn!" Den hit it back at him as if they were in a tennis match, but the island nation was long gone.

Prussia yelled for his help again. Shit. Denmark was playing like a total ass. Even Romano was doing better than he was. In fact, while Den was flying after the Bludger to save Prussia again, Romano actually scored!

A cheer went up from England's team and from the three in the stands. Well, of course Estonia was going to cheer Bulgaria's team. But Ron became indignant, yelling to Hermione, "Whose side are you on, anyway?" He put the Quaffle back into play.

"It's not a matter of sides, Ron," Harry laughed, flying past. "It was a good goal!"

Romano preened a bit, though Den noticed he was careful not to let go of the broomstick. Everyone else was so distracted by this that Prussia managed to sneak up and score against the shouting, isolated Bulgaria. "Awesome! I scored! Hey, _Romano!_ I scored too!"

Bulgaria snorted and put the Quaffle back in play. Now Den felt really stupid – although he knew his position was not a scoring one, both his friends had made goals very quickly. "We forgot to make a bet!" he yelled, swinging his bat at a Bludger.

"No bloody bets!" England flew past again, laughing almost as maniacally as Prussia, and hit the ball away.

Shit. Romano was about to score another goal! Denmark was determined to stop him. Ignoring all the balls and other players, he flew downward and then popped right up in front of the Italian, intending to shock him into missing.

And…boy, did it work. Romano screamed "Chigi!" and recoiled, right into the path of a Bludger that Viktor had been unable to stop. The ball hit Romano in the shoulder and he lost control of the broom, tumbling down towards the grass, still screaming incoherently in Italian.

"Shit!" Den yelled, going into a nosedive to try to catch him before he hit the ground.

Suddenly Romano stopped both screaming and falling, but Denmark couldn't stop, and his powerful dive drove him face-first into the dirt, where he landed on his broom and smashed it. "Ow. Ow!" Ouch. He rolled over heavily in the grass and lay still. What the hell? Did he have splinters up his _nose?_

He'd thought Romano had recovered and gotten control of his broom again, but no. The brunet swung gently in the breeze, apparently unconscious, about ten feet in the air, upside-down and clinging to the broom. What had happened? Hit by another ball?

Gameplay had stopped for all this. Den narrowed his eyes against the sun, sort of dazed. At least he hadn't broken anything. Had he? He raised a hand and wiped his nose, which was bleeding a little. Whatever. He blotted it with his shirt, blinking a few times, then kept his eyes open and listened to the talk flow around him, vaguely hoping Romano wouldn't fall and land on top of him.

Hermione ran anxiously out onto the field, trailed by Luna and Estonia. "Are you all right?" she asked Den. Then, pointing to Romano, "Is _he_ all right?"

"I'll take care of Mathias." Luna bent down and smoothed the hair off Den's face, taking a handkerchief from her handbag and wiping up the blood. He smiled at her, and she smiled back. England touched down nearby, followed by most of the other players.

"He-e-e-lp!" they heard, and the whole group looked up. Prussia had fallen off his broom and hung onto it with both hands, dangling beneath it, his legs kicking wildly as the broom shot randomly around the arena. Both Bludgers chased him. "Stop this crazy thing! _Iggy!"_

Bulgaria laughed and waved cheekily at him. "Well?" he demanded of England. "Going to save him?"

"Pfft. Not if he keeps calling me Iggy. Let him fly around for a while, keep him out of my hair, unless one of you gits wants to save him. I need to check on Romano."

"I'll go get him," Bulgaria sighed. "Come on, Viktor, give me a hand." The two of them launched themselves at the albino.

"Are you all right, Den?" Denmark nodded without saying anything, so England got airborne near the unconscious Romano, about eight feet above everyone else. He lifted his friend's eyelid with his thumb. "Seems like he's knocked out. Did the ball hit him in the head?"

"No," Charlie told him. "In the shoulder. Viktor tried to stop it but wasn't fast enough."

"Why is he floating up there?" Ron wondered. "I thought he was going to crash." He dusted his hands together.

Hermione stood wringing her hands. "This is something to do with the spell, isn't it?" Harry asked her.

She nodded. Before she could explain, Charlie asked, "What spell?"

Harry explained about Romano's fear of falling off the broom. "Hermione said she put a spell on him to keep him on the broom."

"It worked, didn't it?" Luna looked dreamily up at Romano, who was still mounted on the broom as if flying, except that he was hanging upside down. "He didn't fall off."

Prussia's voice floated back to them across the width of the pitch. _"Help me!"_ Den shifted his eyes to look; the albino still hung on, legs now flopping limply as he zoomed around; Viktor and Bulgaria flew frantically after him, but didn't seem to be catching up. Eh, he'd be all right, as long as his arms didn't give out. Maybe there was something wrong with that broom. Could it be cursed?

But Estonia spoke, drawing his attention back to the matter at hand. "So, there was some kind of cushioning spell? That's pretty smart." He seemed impressed.

"W-well," Hermione began, nervously, "that – that was later. When I saw him falling, I used an extra-strength cushioning spell on him. It was just supposed to slow his descent so he landed on the grass, not keep him in the air!"

England shrugged and pushed Romano downward; Harry reached up to grab the broomstick, but he couldn't quite make it. The blond pushed harder; when he let go, Romano popped up like a cork to float where he'd been. "Why is this so strong? Why did you use extra-strength spells on him?" England wondered.

"You said he was resistant to magic!" Hermione wailed.

"You mean like Hagrid?" Ron laughed a little, possibly comparing the slight Romano to the gigantic Hagrid.

"Yes! I had to use all the strongest spells I could think of!"

But England frowned. "I never said that. He's never been resistant to it before. What makes you think I said that?"

Harry cleared his throat. "That's what you said in your letter. You wanted to take him on the broomstick ride because he was resistant to magic."

"Oh, bloody hell! I meant he didn't like the idea of magic. He was resisting us, when we wanted to do things, and arguing with us about it all the time. Bugger." He pushed down on Romano again, who popped back up.

"Doesn't really matter why. What matters is how long he'll stay like this." Ron jumped up and grabbed the broom, but it slipped; once again the Italian rose back to his stasis point. "Haha! This is fun." He jumped and bounced Romano up and down a few times.

England glared at him. "Knock it off. If he finds out –"

"Haha," Den managed to laugh weakly. "Explosion!" Luna stopped blotting his face and rocked back on her heels, smiling up at the floating half-nation.

"Uh. Yeah." Ron stopped. "Well? When will he come down?"

Everyone turned to Hermione, who shrugged. "I don't know! If he had been truly resistant to magical effects it might have worn off in five minutes. But since he's not –"

"Can we at least wake him up?" Harry wondered. "I hope he's not concussed."

England lifted his eyelid again. "Pupils are fine. Hey, Romano," he said, slapping his friend's cheek gently.

"Mm, tomatoes," the brunet moaned, hugging his broom and rolling over as if in a bed. This made everyone burst out laughing and dispelled the tension.

"I guess we ought to stop playing," Harry decided.

"Yes. I – I don't think I could focus, knowing he was like this," England said, with a frown.

"And we still need to save Prussia!" When Estonia said that, Den looked up and saw him desperately clinging to a goalpost with his legs while gripping the raging broom with his hands. Bulgaria and Viktor warily approached him, one from each side, each with an outstretched arm ready to grab him. The Bludger had dropped to the grass and lay inert, perhaps sensing that the game was over.

Den laughed a little. "Look at that idiot."

"What are we going to do, if you don't play?" Hermione looked around. "Would you like to tour the school or something?"

"Hah, if we could find the Room of Requirement, maybe there would be a book of spells for how to fix this!" Ron leaped up and tried to grab the end of Romano's broomstick, but it slipped out of his grasp once more.

"Tie a rope to him," Luna suggested. "Then we can tour the school and tug him along with us like a balloon."

The nations all burst out laughing at the idea of a Romano balloon, except for England, who was still quite concerned and trying to wake his friend up. "Hey, you might not want to wake him up," Den pointed out. "If he wakes up and finds himself being treated like a balloon –"

"Bugger. Well, that is a good point." The blond looked down at them all. "I don't mind touring the school. You wankers all right with that?"

"Fine with me," Denmark answered. He didn't really care what they did at this point. He was worried about Romano, and Prussia too, and wanted to keep an eye on his friends. He finally struggled into a sitting position and looked around sadly at the bits of broken broom and the bat.

"Suits me," Harry added. "It'd give us all a chance to calm down a little."

"That's certainly fine with me. I had hoped we'd get a little tour," Estonia smiled, removing his glasses to polish them.

"All right. Let's get all the gear packed up." Harry turned to find that Ginny had been taking care of this all along. "You what?"

"Well, it wasn't going to do any good if I just stood around, was it? At least this is done." She shut and locked the trunk containing the Quidditch balls. "Bring your brooms, everyone. Don't worry about the broken one," she told Denmark. "I'll come back and take care of it later."

"Thanks."

Viktor and Bulgaria finally managed to get the shaking Prussia and his rogue broom back down to earth safely. He immediately collapsed in the grass. "Forget that! Wow, it was exciting at first, but – no way, Arthur. Never again. That damn broom –"

"You said it was awesome," Harry pointed out with a grin.

"That broom is a – a _traitor!"_

No one seemed to sympathize with him; in fact, there was scattered laughter at this comment. "It was your idea to come here, you know," England reminded him. Prussia didn't answer, but turned his back on the broom and rubbed his biceps showily.

Denmark stood up and reached a hand to help him up, and they leaned unsteadily together as they walked. "What happened to you? And Romano?"

Den let them drift to the rear of the group while he explained about it. England stayed airborne, one hand on Romano's broom to pull him along, and they all headed back into the school. Ginny and Charlie took the gear to put away, while the rest congregated in the great hall again.

…

Prussia felt at a disadvantage now that they were all walking (except the floating Romano, who seemed by all reports to be merely sleeping, and Arthur, who flew along next to him to keep an eye on him). He could see that Arthur was seriously distressed by all this. "Hey," he wondered aloud, "what happens when the spells wear off? Will he just fall on the floor?"

"Shit," Den laughed, "that's going to lead to trouble."

"I can probably grab him." England bit his lip. "Go on, Luna or someone, give us a tour. I'll keep flying, just so I can monitor this."

So Luna led them all on a very quirky yet informative tour of the Hogwarts school and grounds. Prussia was thrilled when Nearly Headless Nick came out to see them, and tried to shake his hand. "At least you can't rip _Nick's_ hand off," Den muttered with a grin.

But Prussia ignored this. "Awesome! Wait until I tell America I met a real ghost! Kesesese!"

"Americans are scared of ghosts," Nick sniffed disdainfully, making all the nations laugh. He drifted along with them for a while, showing great interest in trying to poke the sleeping Romano, but then got distracted by something else. Charlie and Ginny hurried up to join the group again, and they moved off in a body.

"Why is the school so empty?" Denmark then wondered. "Is it vacation time or something?"

"Yes. Teachers are around somewhere, but they're probably keeping out of our way." Ron poked his head around the corner. "There are some kids here, too, but they all act intimidated around us. We rarely get to talk to them."

Luna smiled sweetly. "Because you're heroes."

All of the Hogwarts people blushed, and Viktor too. "Luna, please…" Harry began.

Prussia grinned and would have pinched his cheek if they'd been better friends. "You know what always struck me as stupid?" he told them, just to get the embarrassing moment over with. "Voldemort probably could have gotten a shit-ton more adherents if he'd gone to America. There are so many people there, and they love jumping on bandwagons like that. All those religious cults and things? He shouldn't have tried to confine himself to Europe."

"Wouldn't have worked." Den poked him. "Doesn't go with the heroic image."

All the nations paused for a moment to imagine America as a follower of Voldemort; they heard a snort from the airborne island nation. Prussia shrugged. "Hah. Yeah, you're right. Stupid idea. Forget I said anything."

"I'm glad that business is all over." Ginny took Harry's hand and they kept walking.

"We all are." Harry seemed as if he wanted to say more, but the spell broke and Romano fell on top of him. "Ow!"

"Dammit! What the fuck's going on? You – huh? Why are we inside?" His voice changed to accusatory anger as he stared up at England, still on the broom, ignoring Harry who crawled out from under him, rubbing his hip. "Bastard, if you've been doing magic on me again –"

"It's my fault!" Hermione wailed, wringing her hands together theatrically. "Please don't yell at Arthur! He's been so concerned about you!"

Romano's blush started deep and slow, and soon his whole face was red. Ron helped him off the floor and handed the broomstick to Ginny. The brunet cleared his throat. "Wh-what the f-what happened?" He avoided looking at Arthur, now, Prussia noticed. Heh.

The island nation floated down to the floor while Hermione explained. "I'm so, so sorry!"

She had tears in her eyes, she was so distressed. Romano took her hands and smiled at her. "Please don't worry," he told her. "Accidents do happen, and this was a misunderstanding. No real harm has been done."

"Except I'm all bruised, from where you fell on me," Harry joked, and everyone smiled.

"Please don't worry?" Romano squeezed Hermione's hands one more time and let go.

"Okay." She wiped her eyes with the back of a hand.

"So what the h—what are we doing inside?" He stared around the place as England rested his broom and Romano's against the wall.

"Kesesese! Luna's giving us an awesome tour while we waited for you to wake up and get off the broom."

Romano rubbed his head. "Yeah, okay, fine. Please continue the tour. Sorry I fell on you, ba-Harry."

"No problem. Come on, Luna, let's show them something else. Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?"

"Urgh, no," Ron grunted. "I can't deal with her today. Want to take the hidden passage to Hogsmeade? We could get a snack without disturbing the house-elves."

"Why are you always thinking of food?" Hermione whacked him on the side of the head.

He grinned at her. "Hey, at least I was being nice about the house-elves!"

"Idiot," she muttered affectionately, taking his hand.

"Could you deal with a trip through an underground passage?" England asked Romano, still seeming worried.

"Pfft. Catacombs, remember? Yes. Just – uh, just walk with me?" He blushed, and then Prussia _did_ pinch his cheek. "Stop that, you idiot."

"Then let's go to Hogsmeade!" Prussia hugged him excitedly. "Where do we go?"

"Follow me, please." Luna took his hand and led them to the passage's entrance.

…

At the end of the day everyone was in much better spirits. Neither Harry nor Den felt any more pain, and both Romano and Prussia had recovered from their earlier frights. The entire group headed back to the train station to see the travelers safely on their way. "Thank you all," Den said, shaking everyone's hand in turn. "We had a great day, didn't we?"

" _You_ did!" Romano punched him on the arm; everyone laughed.

"We were happy to meet you all." Viktor spoke for the group. "And of course I'm always happy to see you." He shook Bulgaria's hand and then Estonia's with a little smile.

The nations boarded the train with waves and laughter. "Take care of yourselves!" Romano yelled back.

"We will," Luna called to him. "We all will!"

Waving goodbye out the window, they parted from their new Hogwarts friends, exhausted but happy.

"Whew," Prussia groaned, flopping into a seat. "What a day! Seriously, that Quidditch is a bitch. Don't know how they do it." He rubbed his biceps again.

"You're not kidding." Den complained about muscle groups he hadn't even known he owned!

"Don't worry. I'll give you a good massage when we get home." Prussia waggled the white eyebrows.

"Shut up, stupid." Romano kicked him.

"Ow. There's something I forgot to ask about, though, Arthur. Remember when we went to the Shire? We saw the personification of the Shire."

Estonia interrupted to ask about the Shire; this discussion took quite a while.

"Anyway," Prussia continued, "we didn't get to meet the awesome personification of Oz, did we? Or was he or she one of the people we saw but didn't meet?"

England thought. "I think we must have missed him, or her. I've never met that one."

"Well, my real question is why we didn't meet the personification of Hogwarts today. Or maybe not Hogwarts, but of the magical world." Prussia, shaking his head, frowned a little. "I thought for sure we would, since it was a calm day and we weren't in any trouble."

Everyone stared at him; Romano started laughing and hugged England. "Thanks for a pretty good day, bastard."

Den leaned across the gap between the seats and shook England's hand. "Yes. It was an awesome day, even if I will be suffering for a day or two."

Bulgaria and Estonia both laughed and each took the island nation's hands for a few seconds, adding their thanks.

The affronted albino sat shifting his glance from one to the next. "What are you all talking about? Why are you ignoring my question?"

England gestured to Romano to explain. "Teutonic bastard, you're an idiot."

"What? Why?"

"Hogwarts is in the UK." Den poked him in the ribs.

"Yeah? So?"

"England is the personification of this magical world! Aren't you?" Estonia asked earnestly.

England grinned at the amazement dawning on Prussia's face. "Yes, I am. It coexists with our world, you see, so it doesn't really have its own separate place."

Prussia leaped up and hugged him, falling onto his lap as the train lurched onwards. "That's so awesome! Arthur, Arthur, I love you!"

"Yes, git, I love you too. Now get off me; go sit on Denmark's lap or something."

He did so, laughing and hugging the Viking. "Wow. That's the coolest thing ever."

"I _know_." Romano kicked him once more, and the train sped on, taking them home.

…


	192. Ankh-Morpork I

**Ankh-Morpork I.** (The  Discworld novels, Sir Terry Pratchett)

"Looking good, Gilbert." England gestured to his friend's very old-fashioned and dirty outfit. "Not a speck of neon visible."

"Kesesese! My underwear's neon pink but I don't think anybody will see it."

"Oh, for Christ's sake, you girly albino bastard…"

"Why? What kind of underwear do _you_ have on?" Denmark grabbed Romano and tried to pull his pants down.

"Chigi! Will you lunatics drop this? I thought you were done with this shit!" He struggled until England yanked him out of Den's grasp. "Ow."

Prussia grinned at him. "Come on, forget all this, and let's get going. I want to see a golem."

"Well, all right." They trooped down the stairs to the Sanctum. "What the fuck's a golem, anyway? I read some of these books but I don't remember that being in any of them."

Denmark had been doing his homework, so he explained that they were clay statues brought to life by holy words written down and placed into their hollow heads.

"That doesn't make any sense! How the hell do their joints bend?"

" _That's_ what doesn't make sense?" England laughed, lighting the candle. "I thought you'd scoff about the 'holy words in the head' part."

"Whatever, bastard. I know holy words can do a lot. But I want to see a golem too, now."

"Right. Shut it and stand in the circle." The friends took up their positions and transitioned to Sator Square.

…

Although the place was thronged with people, no one paid any attention to their arrival at all. "Are we invisible again?" Prussia hissed to England, as they were jostled this way and that by passersby.

They stood and stared at the milling crowd, dressed in a variety of styles. No golems were visible at the moment. "No. It's just that nobody gives a damn, around here. It's a commonplace occurrence."

"You're joking! Well, let's go see someone."

"Whom should we visit? You choose." England gestured around with an expansive wave of his arm.

But someone had already scurried to the group, quicker than lightning. "Excuse me, sirs! Excuse me! New to the city? Hungry? Try a pie! Genuine finest pork product!"

England laughed at Dibbler's expression; he hadn't been here for a while, but old Dibbler was still the same, just a little more grey in his hair. "No thanks," he said, even though Prussia was eying the pies. (Den and Romano sensibly stood well back from the tray.) "Maybe later."

"You're certain? Look how good they are!" Dibbler nodded enthusiastically.

"We're certain."

"Are we?" Prussia hissed. Romano poked him.

"Come on, let's move," England told his friends quietly. Then: "Thanks, Mr. Dibbler." He pulled his friends to stand near a building, out of the traffic flow. Still no one else looked at them much, while they gawked.

"Why can't we get a pie, Arthur? They smell really good!"

"Cheh. Did you do any homework, bastard? Even _I_ know that if you eat one of Dibbler's pies, you'll regret it."

"If you live long enough," Den added with a laugh.

Prussia stroked his chin, thinking. "Nope. Don't remember anything about that."

"Well, it doesn't matter, git. Just take your cues from me, all right? And no mucking about with things you don't recognize! The Disc, and Ankh-Morpork, are naturally magic. If you touch something you could cause a strange reaction."

"Turning your underwear blue," Romano muttered with a smirk.

"Ah. Well." Den ignored that. "I think we should meet the personification right away, so we don't forget."

"Ooh! Great idea, great idea. Can we do that, Arthur?"

"You want to meet the personification of Ankh-Morpork? Or of the whole Disc?"

"Could we do both?" Prussia nodded eagerly. "It would make up for all the other ones we missed."

"We could try. Come on. We need to get to the Brass Bridge." England led the others away, through the crowds and dirt, the noise and smells.

"How do people stand this?" Romano wondered. "It's like a circus!" He grabbed the island nation's arm so he wouldn't get lost in the crowd, his head whipping from side to side as he stared at dwarves, pigeons, humans, and even – "A _zombie?_ " he whispered, pulling himself closer to his friend.

Prussia grinned at the passing grey-skinned zombie, who raised his hat and smiled at the travelers, but the albino didn't comment on that. "It can't be any worse than things were in our past. Can it? Hell, Berlin's worse than this now, just in a different way. More tech and stuff, more pollution and noise. And a lot more people there." He looked around the area again.

Romano took a moment to think about this, instead of just disagreeing on principle. "You're right. I hadn't considered it that way."

"Must just be because it's unfamiliar to us." Denmark towered over most of the residents, until they rounded a corner and almost bumped into a troll in a clockwork helmet. "Oops," the Viking said quietly, looking up – and up – "Sorry."

"Dat's all right," the troll said with a diamond grin. "People always bumpin' into me."

"Are you _Detritus?_ " Prussia asked in awe.

"Dat's Sergeant Detritus, to you," the troll nodded. "But yeah, dat is who I am."

"Sergeant Detritus," the albino hurriedly corrected himself, extending a hand to shake. "Wow."

Very delicately, the troll took the white hand between thumb and forefinger and shook it gently. "'M on my way to a crime scene so I gotta go." He lumbered off.

"Thanks! Bye!" Prussia danced in place. "Can we follow him? I wanna see the rest of the Watchmen."

England laughed and poked him in the belly. "Don't worry. You will."

Denmark laughed too, but then took a moment to think. "Wonder what crime it was? I hope it's nothing too bad."

"Argh, bastards, I hope they don't try to pin it on us! Let's go to the Brass Bridge like we were going to do. I don't want to get in trouble for meddling."

"Good point." England took Romano's arm again and led them off, dodging pedestrians, horses, and carts along the way.

They reached the bridge without incident and stood staring at the famous hippos and the cart and foot traffic for a moment. "Well?" Den asked. "Where's the personification?"

England grinned and led them to a short, grubby Watchman leaning against the railing, smoking. "Mornin', gents," Nobby greeted them with a sloppy salute.

"How have you been, Corporal Nobbs?"

"Eh, you know how it is. Ups and downs, just like everybody else."

The blond introduced his friends. Only Gilbert was brave enough to shake Nobby's hand; England figured he was probably safe, since he was an ex-nation anyway. Still. He had hand sanitizer in the rucksack, having assumed someone, somewhere, would get dirty. He'd make Gilbert use it when they moved on.

"And this is the Ankh!" Den leaned over the railing, watching the sluggish river, an almost solid mud color. "Wow." He scooped up a loose piece of gravel and threw it into the river; all four of the nations watched it dimple the surface and rest there before beginning to sink slowly after a few minutes.

"Easy to tell you blokes are tourists, even if I didn't recognize Arthur. Here for a long time?"

"Just today," England told him. "Mister Vimes keeping the city under control?" He grinned.

"Yeah. 'S not easy, having a teenaged kid trying to follow you around all the time. But I guess Young Sam's busy learnin' to be a copper now. Or trying to." Nobby snorted. "He gets up a lot of people's noses, that one. Not as sharp as his dad, but thinks he is. Tryin' to reform the system. Vimesy keeps tryin' to shut him up, but he won't. A right pain in the arse." He sucked on his dogend. "Even Her Ladyship can't keep him under control."

"I thought he was going to study – uh, animal shit?" Denmark laughed as he thought of Young Sam's previous interest in excrement. "But if he's a teenager now, then, yeah, that was a long time ago. Lots of time to change his mind."

"Being a copper gets the girls," Prussia added. "Not so easy to get a date when you smell like elephant shit."

Nobby's eyes unfocused and he stuck the dogend behind his ear before patting his various pockets. "Hold on. Got somethin' here – " Eventually he pulled out something that looked like a flat metal box, about the size of a cell phone. They could hear a tinny knocking sound coming from it.

"What's that?" Prussia asked, leaning over to peer at it.

"New kind of thing for talkin' to people." The grubby Watchman pried the lid off the box to display a tiny imp, breathless and irritable, who had apparently been banging on the underside of the lid with an even tinier rock.

"Oi," the imp scowled. "Been banging for two minutes!"

"What's that thing? A – a gnome?" Romano leaned forward and peered at the imp, who recoiled. The box was furnished – if it could be called that – with a tightly-folded handkerchief that might have been a bed for it.

"I am an Advanced Communications Imp!"

"What does that mean?"

"Well," Nobby told him, leaning back against the bridge railing, "some bugger at the University discovered that imps can talk to each other even when they're far apart."

"Or suffocating in metal boxes!" the imp squeaked angrily.

"So now all us Watchmen have 'em. We can talk to each other faster. Y'open the box, tell the imp what you want to say, and then he tells his mate, who opens their box and tells your friend whatever you want to say!"

"Unless they're trapped in a box, mister!"

"Yeah, all right, all right, Ted. What's going on?"

"All Officers, Treacle Mine Road!"

"Really? Haven't had one o'them in a while." Nobby pushed himself up and smacked the lid back on the imp's box, ignoring the tiny squeaking that resumed. "Got to go, gents. Have a nice trip! And – say hi to the personificatatation of the Disc for me, will you?" He gave England a wink and ran.

"Nobby, huh?" Den said, staring after him. "I would have thought Vimes was the personification of the city."

England nodded and gestured along the street; they began walking again. "You'd be forgiven for thinking that. A lot of people in our world think so. But Vimes is honest and loyal, if a bit of a bastard, and if you think about Ankh-Morpork, that doesn't really go with the image. Nobby is exactly like the city – dirty, greedy, smarmy…impressionable…"

"Kesesese! I'll say. Give me the hand sanitizer, Arthur." He rummaged in the rucksack and eventually brought it out. Gilbert liberally squirted his hands with it, rubbing them together, and England replaced it, shouldering the bag once more.

"So, where are we going now, bastard?" The crowds were thinner here. Still no golems, though.

England gestured towards the Tower of Art. "Unseen University. If you want to meet the personification of the Disc, we'll need their help."

"It's not Ridcully, is it?" Prussia burst out laughing. "That would be amazing."

"Ridcully's getting old," England pointed out sadly, instead of answering the question. "He's still doing a good job as Archchancellor, but he's near ninety now, and ten years from now he may start to lose it. I'm not sure how well we'll find him, or the other wizards."

Den laughed and stretched. "Maybe all that jogging keeps him fit."

"Maybe you should box with him, bastard. I read that he went two rounds with Detritus once."

"I'm not a boxer, my friend. Even if I was, I don't know the Marquis of Fantaillier rules." The Viking shrugged.

"Pfft. Not that different from Queensberry," England replied, "though I don't think we want to sit around and watch you pummel the Archchancellor."

"Kesesese! I'd pummel him!"

"No, you won't," his friends chorused.

"Why not?"

"Because we're not here to beat people up! Wanker. Come on, let's get in there." The island nation gestured them through the main gate.

"Hello, Mr. Arthur," Modo called from the rose garden. England raised a hand and waved, but they continued towards the intricate front doors.

Before they reached the top step, Ridcully himself came out to greet them. "Gentlemen! A little birdie told me you'd be here today!" He took England's hand and shook it fiercely; the blond grinned and pumped back.

As he performed the introductions, he noticed that Ridcully and Denmark were trying to outdo each other with powerful handshakes. Hah. He just hoped the Archchancellor wouldn't try that with Romano. His friend's hand would be crushed!

But Ridcully seemed to understand that, and shook Romano's hand politely (pretending not to notice Den rubbing his knuckles in the background), and then laughed as Prussia gave him the Awesome Grin and tried to crush his hand. "Nice to meet you all."

When Prussia finally let go, England snorted quietly to see Ridcully rubbing his hand behind his back. "Fine day, Archchancellor. University doing well?"

Ridcully gestured them into the building. "Come in, do. Yes, everything's fine. Had a bit of a problem with the Bursar last week, but it's all been straightened out." He cleared his throat. "Turns out the fella's been faking this insanity all these years, just to get his hands on the dried frog pills. Turned into quite an addiction. Librarian's been good with the poor chap, though. Should have him back on his feet and at his post in another year or so."

He led them into a large room ringed with buffet tables. These tables were laden with food, and the chairs in the room filled with sleeping wizards. "University's finest," the Archchancellor said with a scowl. Several pairs of eyes opened up, looked at the head of the University, and hurriedly squeezed closed again.

"Kesesese! Will you introduce us? I want to meet them all."

"When they wake up. Why don't you blokes get yourself something to eat, and we can sit over here and talk?"

The nations, a little worried, headed to one of the tables. "Is this going to be weird food shit?" Romano wondered.

"No. It's mostly like English food." The island nation had eagerly begun piling things up on a plate, and hadn't noticed his three friends looking at each other in dismay. "What? What?" he asked, when none of them had made a move to fill a plate. "Gits. Just get something to eat, if you're hungry, and don't, if you're not. Romano, there's coffee over there."

The brunet nodded at him and went to the coffee urn; Prussia and Denmark shrugged and picked up plates.

When they'd all sat down, with only Ridcully having joined them, the Archchancellor beamed and began eating pie. "Well, my friends? What is it that we can help you with today?"

With a nervous look at the other nations, England leaned closer to the big man. He didn't know whether his friends had read about this, and didn't know whether they might freak out. But they _did_ want to meet the personification of the whole Disc – "We'd like you to perform the Rite of AshkEnte."


	193. Ankh-Morpork II

**Ankh-Morpork II.**

 _"What?"_ Romano screeched and leaped out of his chair so fast that it fell over. Den and Prussia each grabbed an arm and held onto him as he struggled to get away. "You want to summon _Death?"_

England and Ridcully ignored this, continuing to talk in low tones, although the sleeping wizards, as one man, had awakened and made a rush for the door. The noise level escalated as they bottlenecked, trying to shove each other's bulk out of the way.

"Stop it, you chaps," Ridcully said quietly, and with a wave of his hand the door glowed red. All the wizards backed off and sat sheepishly back down, nervous eyes on the Archchancellor.

"You can't be serious," Romano said to England. "You _can't_. Death? You're insane." His breath grew labored, but Prussia held on to steady him.

Denmark leaned over and righted Romano's chair. "I don't mind," he grinned.

Prussia nodded agreement and let go. "If that's who it is, that's who it is."

Ridcully rose. "Well, everyone's awake, might as well get it done now. Push these tables back. Runes, go get some mouse blood."

England rose too. "It's not what you think," he told Romano reassuringly. "Help move the tables."

"I must protest, Archchancellor!" The Lecturer in Recent Runes fluttered his hands as he defied the powerful Ridcully. "Are we merely showmen? Performing monkeys?"

Several wizards looked around warily at that, but apparently the Librarian was not within earshot. "I have to agree," Stibbons added. "The University is not a sideshow."

"Whose door says 'Archchancellor,' Stibbons? I believe it's mine. Now, all this waffling isn't getting the job done. Go get the blood, Runes."

"I actually have some right here." The Senior Wrangler fished in one of the pockets of his robe.

"What on earth for?" Dr. Hix took the vial from his hands. "Even in Post-Mortem Communications we don't need to carry mouse blood around."

"It's – I just – just –"

"Never mind. Give me that." Ridcully snatched it from Hix and turned back to the guests. All the tables had by now been pushed back, and there was a large cleared space in the center of the floor. "Right, gents. Let's all stand around the edges here."

Reluctantly the wizards shuffled into position. Den, Prussia and England stepped lively, and the island nation had to drag the quaking Romano, but eventually everyone was ready. "Wait," Prussia said. "Which way is north?"

"There is no real north," England told him. "Because it's a disc."

"Oh. Oh, yeah. Okay, well, just pretend the Archchancellor is magnetic north, and stand in our compass positions."

His friends rolled their eyes, but did as asked, while the wizards stared in amazement. "Is this a sort of magic ritual of your land?" Rincewind asked politely, one eye on the door.

"Kesesese! You could say that. It keeps us oriented." Prussia winked at Romano, and the Archchancellor began the spell.

Seconds later the inside of the makeshift circle glowed, and a figure materialized. All the nations closed their eyes against the brightness. A collective sigh of relief from the wizards, however, eased the tension immediately.

"What exactly is the meaning of this?" they heard, in tones that sounded decidedly un-Death-like. Denmark opened his eyes and saw – _aha._ No wonder England had said 'It's not what you think.' Susan Sto Helit stood in the center, extremely angry, and shaking a finger at Ridcully. "If this is your idea of a joke –"

"It's not," England said to her, and she turned to where he stood. "Please forgive us. Just a little showing off for my friends."

Susan lowered her threatening index finger and tried to calm down. "Nice to see you again, Arthur."

"Likewise. You look as striking as you did last time I saw you." England began to perform the introductions, starting with Romano, so Den had some time to spare observing her. She looked just as he would have imagined from the books, where she'd been very thoroughly described – although her current outfit of brown overalls and an oversized checked red and black shirt didn't seem to go with the image. Perhaps she'd been gardening. Her famous hair was back in a tight bun, although it had begun to slip from its pins already.

When England finally got around to introducing him, Denmark smiled brightly, almost flirtatiously. She was a very beautiful girl, even with the slight irritation still on her face. "This is Mathias Kohler, the personification of a country known as Denmark," the island nation told her.

He held out a hand to her. Mesmerized, she reached out for it, but her fingers struck the inside of the invisible circle and caused a blue electric spark to flash. "Oh. Do forgive me," Ridcully boomed, waving a hand and causing the wall to disappear. Susan nodded at him – one professional to another – and blushed as she reached out to take Denmark's hand.

He'd intended to shake her hand, but instead simply held hers; they gazed at each other (he in delight, she in nervousness) until a "Kesesese!" broke the awkward silence. "Come on! Let's sit and talk!" Prussia ran to a table and began dragging it into its proper place.

Susan seemed to become aware of her current state of dress and let go of Den's hand. "Ah – excuse me, just a moment, gentlemen."

He watched her turn her back, close her eyes; the outfit melted, shifted, to become a lacy black dress; her hair slipped free of all its pins and stood out from her head. It only added to the charm, he thought, as she turned around again, smiling nervously at him. "Beautiful," he murmured, ignoring Romano's snort.

Soon everyone was seated at the long table, including the wizards. "I repeat that it's nice to see you, Arthur, but why have you pulled me here? I was in the middle of cleaning out some attics."

"We wanted to meet the personification of the Disc!" Prussia wiggled in his seat and Den laughed at him a little. "It's so awesome that it's you."

"And not your grandfather," Romano added with a low chuckle. The wizards all nodded feverish agreement.

Denmark noticed that Susan seemed, well, not uncomfortable, but distracted, whenever she looked at him, or talked to him. He stayed mostly quiet, smiling at her, or at his friends, as the conversation flowed, and each time their eyes met, she blushed. Once, he winked at her while she was speaking, and she got completely flustered and lost the thread of her sentence.

After that – when many of the wizards had dropped off to sleep again – she rose. "I do need to get back," she told them, "although it was a nice surprise to meet you all." She blushed again as she gazed up at Den, who had also stood up.

"The Archchancellor told me you live in Ankh-Morpork now," England responded. "Maybe we could escort you home? We did want to see some more of the city."

"Thank you, Arthur. Yes, please."

The group bid their farewells to Ridcully and his faculty and left the University. "Dammit. It really feels like I'm escaping from an actual university! Something about these places always makes me feel little and stupid again."

"You're fine." England patted Romano on the back. "Where do we need to go?" he asked Susan.

"Near the Patrician's Palace," she answered, so they set off in that direction.

"This is _so awesome!_ "

"Yeah, you moron. Can't you control it?"

"Aw, Romano, you're always trying to kill my high. Let me be happy! There's not that much for me to be happy about at home, you know. Would _you_ want to live with West as a brother?"

Before Romano could answer, Susan stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. "Oh, no. Not him again."

Den peered around to see who she meant, but she'd already begun to run down a side street. "Hey!" he yelled.

"I'll be fine! Have a nice visit, Mathias!" she called out, waving merrily as she ran; her clothing slowly changed back to the frumpy outfit she'd had on earlier. "And the rest of you," Susan added as an afterthought, disappearing around a corner.

"That was random," Prussia frowned. "Who the hell was she running from?"

"Cheh, maybe she was tired of your excessive bullshit." Romano laughed and poked him.

"She certainly hadn't tired of Den." England gave him a snarky grin. "Really pouring it on today, weren't you?"

 _"Moist!"_ Prussia yelled this before Denmark had to answer.

"Where?" All the others turned to see, and yes…the Man in the Golden Suit strode towards them, a hand outstretched, a small crowd following him. "Wonder what he's up to? Why's everybody following him?"

"Arthur! My good friend, hello." Moist shook the beaming England's hand. All the people around the bank director stopped walking and stared at the nations.

"What's the word, Postmaster?" England then introduced his friends, all of whom shook Moist's hand.

"You are awesome," Prussia told him. "If I could be anybody in Ankh-Morpork it'd be you."

Moist laughed loud and long. "That's quite a compliment, I'd say. Why don't you come with me? We've got something very special to show you."

"Whatever you like! I would like to see anything that the great Moist von Lipwig considered special." Prussia danced in place again, and even Romano laughed at this.

The Postmaster raised his eyebrows. "The _great –?_ Don't let Adora Belle hear you call me that. I'll never live it down." To the laughter that followed this, he continued, "Follow me, gentlemen!" Moist strode off, England at his side, with the other three nations now hurrying to keep up.

"Hey, bastard," Romano hissed to Den. "What are all these people doing following us?"

The Dane turned to look. There was indeed quite a crowd, but they simply seemed to be following, not trying to talk to Moist, not interested in the nations. "Beats me. Maybe there's a festival or something."

"Don't let me get lost, all right?"

"Okay. We can stick together. Looks like T. K.'s going to be glued to Moist's side for the rest of the day anyway." They checked on the albino, who was indeed manically speaking with the Postmaster.

In moments the air began to reek. "What the fuck?"

"Phew! Smells like a – oh." Den read the sign outside Harry King's place and understood. "Why on earth is he bringing us here?" he wondered, bending to explain things to his shorter friend.

"This must be the train depot."

"Train depot?" Den scowled. "They don't have trains in Ankh-Morpork."

"They do now, you stupid Viking! Haven't you been keeping up to date? Harry King is like the fucking railroad baron or whatever." Romano elbowed him.

"Ow. No, I didn't read the latest one. Come on, let's catch up to the others." The flow of parading locals had separated them from Prussia, England and Moist by several meters.

"Hey, gits. Wondered where you'd slouched off to." England patted Romano on the shoulder. "Do you know where we are?"

Prussia interrupted. "I can't see anything too special, unless you mean all these vendor's booths. Something celebratory going on?" he asked Moist.

"City's Sesquibiperentennial. Everyone's going a little crazy this year. But that's not what I brought you to see." He turned and gestured with his hand towards Iron Girder, gently chuffing into view.

" _Steam trains!"_ the albino yelled. "Man, I love steam trains. Moist, you are totally awesome." He took the man's hand and shook it enthusiastically. Despite himself, Den checked to see whether he might end up ripping Moist's hand off, and then laughed at himself.

"Don't compliment me. I didn't invent it." The Postmaster pointed towards a young man in greasy overalls. "This is Mr. Simnel's baby."

"Simnel, Simnel," Romano muttered. "I've seen that name –" He stopped abruptly.

But Moist seemed to understand what he meant. "That was the father. The son is quite a bit more careful about things."

"Can we ride the train? Can we? Please, Arthur, please?"

"Sure, if you like. I probably won't bother, but feel free. I ride occasionally at home. We have all those refurbished ones in museums, but just a few that still work after all this time."

"Hsst!" Romano grabbed the blond's sleeve and yanked on it. "Stupid!"

"What? What?"

"Do they know our society is more advanced? You don't want to get in trouble, or upset them by insulting their levels of development," the half-nation went on in a low tone. Den nodded in agreement.

"Oh. Don't worry. Moist knows, and nobody else can hear us, really." They all checked, and indeed, most of the crowd had dispersed, either to shop at the souvenir booths or queue for a ride on the train.

"Well? Can we ride the train?" Prussia persisted.

Romano shook his head. "I don't want to bother."

"What? Why not?"

"Cheh, you idiot. There's a _reason_ all the best cars are made in Italy. We hate taking the fucking train!"

"All right, all right. You and I will go sit over there" – England gestured to a wide, empty platform – "while Gilbert and Den have a ride. Okay?"

"Fine by me, bastard. Now, remember, you two morons. Don't insult the train."

Denmark began laughing loudly. "Insult the train? Like it could understand me?"

But the island nation nodded. "Yes. Remember, there's magic all around, here. Be careful." He and Romano headed for the seating platform.

As Den approached the engine, he scoffed aloud. "Magic steam train, my ass." As soon as he'd said that, Iron Girder let out a puff of steam that zapped him in the ass, and he yelped.

"Kesesese! She knows what you're saying, my friend." Prussia leaped up into the train car.

"Don't be stupid. How can an old hunk of metal understand me?" Den put a foot up onto the step and it promptly collapsed under him.

Dick Simnel came rushing over. "Sorry, sir, sorry; don't know what happened there. Never had that step collapse before." He helped Denmark to rise and then fiddled with the step, whipping a wrench from his back pocket to fix it. In about ten seconds all seemed right. "There you go; step up."

Simnel stood back and Den decided to skip the steps entirely. He took ahold of the support bars on either side of the door, intending to pull himself up and over the steps, and the support bars fell off. " _Fandens!"_ he yelled, flinging them aside, bringing Romano and England over at a trot.

While the engineer blithely reattached the support bars, Den stood fuming and cursing the train in Danish. No damn magic steam train would get the better of him!

But his friends each grabbed an arm and forcibly dragged him backwards, away from Iron Girder, who began softly chuffing along the track. It sounded like laughter. "Let go of me," Den snarled, but the two of them held on tightly.

"No train ride for _you._ " Romano laughed and laughed. "Come sit on the stupid platform with us. Didn't I tell you not to insult the fucking train?"

They turned back and saw Prussia's pale hand and arm waving out the window towards them; England let go of the Viking and waved back. "Come on, git. Calm yourself down, and come sit on the seating platform."

He shrugged. Might as well.

So, while the three of them sat and bullshitted (and Romano continually goaded Den about losing a battle of wits with a train), Prussia rode and rode _and rode_ that train. Moist stopped by, but so many people were trying to get his attention that England simply waved him on.

Then Denmark saw someone approaching that he thought he recognized. "Hey! Is that Harry King?" he asked England, who confirmed it.

Great. Maybe talking to the King of the Golden River (so called because his business involved the cleanup of almost every chamber pot and cesspit in the city) would help Den get his mind off that damn enchanted engine. He stood up with a grin, flexing his muscles in the sunlight, and waited for his island friend to perform the introductions.


	194. Ankh-Morpork III

**Ankh-Morpork III.**

Prussia laughed and rode the train and shook hands with every passenger he could find. Ah, he loved trains; too bad most of his railroad memories were from troop trains in the wars. It felt wonderful to ride along, the wind flapping his white hair, meeting and greeting all these people. "Kesesese!" he chortled, sticking his head out into the rushing air.

Suddenly he felt a tug at his sleeve and turned back to look. Ugh! A scrawny, grimy little – little _being_ , he figured, since he couldn't tell its species, stood yanking on his sleeve. "Mister White Person?" the thing asked politely.

"My name is Gilbert," he offered, unsure as to whether or not he should shake hands. Ah, why not, he thought, extending his hand.

The creature took it and pumped it enthusiastically. "Am called Three Between the Sheets. Goblin," it said, bobbing its head up and down.

Double ugh! Goblins saved their own snot and ear wax in little clay pots! Prussia yanked his hand back and wiped it against his shirt. He'd need to remember to get the hand sanitizer again later. "Hiya." He turned back to look out of the window, trying to ignore the goblin, and waved to his friends where they sat chatting with some big fat guy on the platform.

"Gilbert White as Snow," the goblin said. "Liking the rail way?"

'Gilbert White as Snow'? Despite himself, Prussia got intrigued by the little guy's comment. Little _guy_? Little girl? He couldn't even tell! "I love railways," he said with a grin and nod.

As Three Between the Sheets' eyes widened, the albino gulped. _Scheisse!_ This kid probably didn't know what other railways existed. "I, I dream about it all the time," he waffled, trying to cover the awkward moment. Then: "Uh, do people really have to call you 'Three Between the Sheets' all the time? It's cumbersome."

"Don't know cumbersome. Can call me Sheets if you like."

"Kesesese! Okay, Sheets! Do you like the railway?"

"Oh, yes. Work for Mister Moist. Right now trying to invent things, ah, called, you know," the goblin spread his hands out like an advertising banner. "Come ride on the rail way," he stated, as if quoting.

"Oh! Marketing," Prussia nodded. "Yeah. Like interesting things to make people want to come over and take a ride?"

"Yes. Gilbert White as Snow understands it well."

"There's nothing I don't understand, little ma—uh, little goblin." Whoops. Almost made another mistake there. "What are you thinking of using? Posters, or what?"

"Posters, yes, words in paper of news, also. Mister Moist thinks a picture of something but not Iron Girder. Didn't know what else to use."

The albino picked up on this quickly. "'Didn't'? You mean you do know something, now?" He looked out and waved at Romano again; the brunet wearily gave him the finger.

"Indeed yes! Show people that rail way is clean! No dirt on clothes." Sheets gestured to Prussia.

"My clothes are filthy! But they were like this when I left home," he explained. "Not from the railway."

"Not a problem. Mister Moist find white clothing for you. Then take picture, Gilbert White as Snow riding the rail way and not being dirty! People then understand and more will ride."

"Kesesese! You're kidding me, right? Model for railway ads?" Hah, wait until Den heard about this one! He laughed again, while Sheets stood staring at him earnestly.

"Why not? Gilbert White as Snow seems a handsome man, good like Mister Moist. But cannot use Mister Moist in marketing. Gold suit not show up well on paper."

Prussia nearly jumped up and cheered. Handsome like Moist! How awesome.

Of course, Moist _was_ known for having a rather forgettable face, which is why he wore the Golden Suit all the time. Did that mean Prussia was forgettable too? Hell, no. "So, you want me to be in marketing pictures?" he asked again, with a big grin, just to clarify.

"Yes, please. Will speak with Mister Moist when Iron Girder stops. Will Gilbert White as Snow do it?"

"Yes, I will!" A model in Ankh-Morpork! That even beat advertising Danish Summer Tourism. He'd have to crow about this to Romano for quite a long time. 'Romano Dark as Dirt,' he thought, with a snort.

When Sheets leaped off the moving train to go find Moist, he thought about the Danish modeling session. They hadn't done any of that this year. He'd have to ask Den about it later.

Iron Girder finally drew to a slow halt, and passengers began to reluctantly shuffle off the train. Prussia hopped down, avoiding those treacherous steps (just in case the train understood he was the best friend of the insulting Denmark) and practically collapsed into Moist's arms. "Hey!"

"Hey yourself," the Postmaster laughed. "Did you understand what Three Between the Sheets was talking about?"

The albino shrugged. "Kind of. Some kind of advertising campaign?" He decided to play it modest here, in case he'd misunderstood, or in case Sheets didn't have the real clout to make such a thing happen.

"Yes! It's quite brilliant, actually." Moist put his arm around Prussia's shoulders and led him on a little walk around the compound; Sheets trailed them anxiously. "He'd like to put you into stark white clothing – evening dress, or at least a white suit – and have iconographs taken of you riding the train. Even though the railway does have the word 'Hygienic' in it, people still worry they're going to get all dirty from the coal smoke and ash. If we could show someone all in white – and who better than you, my pale new friend – riding it, and not getting dirty, it would impress a lot of people."

"Wouldn't they just think the ph—iconographs were staged? I mean, some guy in a white suit could just stand there while the train wasn't moving."

Moist laughed at him. "You're forgetting this is Ankh-Morpork. There will be loads of people actually watching, and the word will spread that it was real. Will you do it? We'll pay you."

"Pfft. What would I do with Ankh-Morpork money?"

"I'll open a bank account for you. Then if Arthur brings you back, you'll have the money."

"That's cool, but what about the white suit idea? This is all I brought with me," and Prussia gestured to his grubby clothes, grinning as he thought of his neon pink underwear.

"Not a problem. Spike knows several golems working at the Seven Dollar Tailor's, and they can probably have a suit here within the hour. Do you think your friends are willing to stick around that long?"

"Hah! They will be, once I've explained. Plus they did want to see a golem. What were they doing all this time, anyway?"

"Talking to Harry King, mostly. I tried to spend some time with them, but my time is in demand and goblins keep coming to discuss ideas." Moist steered them back towards the crowds. "Let me send a runner to Spike, and she can come back with a golem to take your measurements. Then we can get the suit sorted. Meanwhile, why don't you go explain to your friends?"

"It's a deal." The two flamboyant men shook hands. Moist collared a street urchin to give him a message for his wife, while Prussia sought out his friends on the platform.

…

Two hours later, Moist and Three Between the Sheets were very happy with the new advertising campaign. They'd decided to give the pale passenger his own marketing name, creating a character called Gilbert Snow who toured on the Hygienic Railway and stayed pristine all the way to the end of the line.

Romano, England and Den had tried to be calm about all this, but the Viking was still fuming about the stupid train (which appeared to adore Prussia, since he really hadn't gotten a single speck of dirt on him even in the white suit), and Romano simply felt bored. "Will that moron ever shut up? I'm hungry and want to go home."

"Amen to that," Den snarled in response. At a distance, they watched Moist peel off some bills from a roll in his pocket, and then saw Prussia (back in his dirty duds) count them. "He's never going to shut up about all this." Then they saw their friend hand the money back to the Postmaster.

"Throw him in the Ankh." England, lying on his back on the seating platform, offered this lazy suggestion as he glanced that way.

"Hah, he'd just walk to the riverbank and get out." Romano sat and cradled his head in his hands.

"Right, I've had enough, and it looks like the git is done. We can go now." England rose and cupped his hands around his mouth, startling some people and pigeons nearby. "Oi, _Gilbert!_ Shift your arse!"

"Kesesese!" floated back to them. "Give me a minute." He shook Moist's hand, but then they lost sight of him in the crowd near the vendor booths.

"Let's get a place cleared." The island nation directed Den and Romano to push the locals back, making enough room for them to stand. He scooped up the rucksack and pulled the candle out of it just as Prussia reappeared.

"Ready to go! Man, what an awesome day."

"It wasn't that bad," Romano agreed. "Mostly because I didn't have to listen to your blabby bullshit."

England sighed. "Oh, quit it, the pair of you. Stand around the candle."

Before they could transport away, Moist hurried back up to say goodbye. Prussia shook the man's hand once more. "Thank you again. It was awesome to meet you."

"You're more than welcome. Thanks for helping with the ads, and take care on the trip home, all of you."

The area seemed more crowded than before, but eventually all four of them bunched together and stood appropriately, with the city's denizens loitering around them. England lit the candle and set it on the cobblestones. Passersby backed up further, perhaps wondering what would happen, and the travelers blipped back home.

…

Den and Romano both felt a little shaky when they arrived back in the Sanctum. "Where the hell's the albino potato?"

"That _bloody wanker!_ Listen. I have to go get him. You two, stay here."

"Do we have to stay in the circle?" Den wondered.

"No. Just don't leave the room; get some water from the sink in the corner. Two glasses. That _git!"_ England lit the candle and vanished again with a muttered oath.

"What could have happened to him?"

"Beats me, bastard. He was standing right there with us." Romano rubbed his shoulder. "Dammit. This never hurt before, but today it does."

"Well, if you were holding onto Prussia and he didn't come back, that would yank your arm a bit, I guess." Denmark headed to the sink for the two glasses of water.

By the time he came back to Romano's side, England and Prussia had reappeared in the circle, Prussia with a bloody nose, and England apparently in mid-tirade. "— _bloody selfish_ idiot!"

"Arthur, I'm sorry! I had no idea!" The albino saw Den holding the water and grabbed one, gulping it all down; England did likewise, and then threw a towel to his friend to mop up the blood.

Romano scowled at Prussia. "What the fuck did you do?"

"The git tried to bring something back with him. Didn't I tell you? When they had Den's axe in Oz? We can't leave anything there, and _we can't take anything away!"_ England shoved Prussia right out of the circle. "Tosser."

"Ow, listen, I said I was sorry, all right?"

"Let me guess," Den laughed. "Ankh-Morpork souvenir spoon?"

"Kesesese! You got it, my friend."

Romano didn't understand. "B-but what the fuck happened? Why didn't you come back, and the spoon stay there?"

"Because he was holding it in his hand. If it had been in a pocket, or the rucksack or whatever, it could have stayed. Oh, bugger. It's just a law of magic, all right?" The angry island nation shooed them all upstairs. "Wash up, Gilbert, and go home. I've got a massive headache from all this."

"Want me to go too, bastard?"

England flicked his eyes to each of them in turn. "Please. I'm going to be miserable company for the next day or so. I'll give you a call. Let's take a break from all this for a while."

By now everyone was in the foyer. "All right, idiot. Rest up and try to forget it all." Romano gave him a brief hug. "See you at the meeting next week."

"Yeah, and thanks, though," Den added. "It was cool to see the place, meet some of the people, except for that stupid train." The others all laughed a little.

"And me! I'm a model once again," Prussia said dreamily.

"A model with a fucking bloody nose, you idiot." Romano grabbed the annoying albino and dragged him out the door; Den followed with a final wave to their host.


	195. Wife-Carrying I

**Wife-Carrying I.**

"Right, dammit, I'm ready for this." Romano cracked his knuckles and lifted England up in the air a little, holding him around the middle. Both of them were dressed in sports clothing; Romano had light hiking boots on, while his boyfriend sported barefoot running shoes.

Amazed, Denmark (shirtless in running shorts and flip-flops) laughed at this. "You've got to be kidding me! _You?_ Give me a break. England, you two are going down."

"Kesesese! Especially because I've been training for months. West rigged up a structure for me, like a robot, to practice with. It's just the same size and weight as Den! We're totally going to win!" Prussia posed heroically.

Romano snarled at him. The bastard was wearing a shirt that was too tight. To show off his abs? Why the fuck was the albino potato going to be the husband anyway? Before he could ask this, England spoke. "Shut it. Don't you have any sense of good sportsmanship?"

"No shit. Shut up, you nasty bastards." Despite his fierce words, the brunet was a little worried. Many nations had chosen to enter this one-off wife-carrying race (Finland had organized it to make up for the failed art competition). The rules? Simple. Carry your partner through the obstacle course. Fastest couple wins.

But for some unknown reason, Romano (in a totally sober moment) had demanded to be the "husband" and carry England through the obstacle course! He must have been insane. How the _fuck_ were they supposed to win? How, in fact, could they even complete the course, without falling over and looking like idiots? True, the course wasn't even 1/5 of a mile, but he really didn't think he could carry the blond bastard all that way without stumbling and falling, no matter how much England had been dieting. He sneaked a peek at his friend, who stood to the side, worrying and biting his lip.

Romano knew he should have caved. England was a very strong nation and could easily support him for this short race. But once he'd demanded it, he couldn't let himself back down. So they'd practiced, and practiced, and practiced. They'd done all right during the practices, too, but he couldn't ignore the fear in his heart. The other competitors were bound to put Romano off his stride. Imagine if they had to race against Cuba!

Who else had entered, besides Prussia and Den? He scanned the area and saw Germany and Veneziano, of course (no prizes for guessing which of _them_ would be the wife!), Poland and Lithuania, Iceland and Liechtenstein. The so-called "hero" and fucking Belarus; hah, that was a couple and a half! Guess America hadn't been too torn up about his breakup with Romano. And Russia and China stood off to the side of the field, hugging and flirting, as if they didn't even know a race was imminent.

Others he could see, but couldn't tell how they were paired up. "Hey," he said aloud, poking Prussia, who was nearest. "Who is Netherlands paired with?"

"Beats me." The albino ran over to Finland and took his clipboard. "Let me see the list, okay?"

Sweden was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he was pissed that he and Finland could once again not compete? Romano rested his chin on England's shoulder while they waited for Prussia to come back with the intel. "You're seriously ready?" the blond asked, smiling.

"Yes, bastard, I'm seriously ready. You don't think I've spent the last three weeks fucking around getting drunk and watching soap operas, do you? No. Even when you were busy, I was out training. We're – uh, well, maybe we're not going to win the whole deal, especially with Den and the albino potato competing, but we'll do all right. I refuse to embarrass myself in front of all these morons." Romano squeezed his hand.

Denmark had sneaked up behind them during the last sentence. "In front of Germany, you mean? Hah. The only way you'll beat Germany is if your brother does the carrying and makes Germany be the wife!" Both he and England began howling at the mental image this produced, while Romano's scowl deepened.

"He won't," he snapped out, when they'd settled. "There's no fucking way."

The Viking shrugged. "People would probably say that about you and England, too, and yet you're going to carry him."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Before he could get too worked up, Prussia returned.

"Kesesese! Some weird-ass couples here today. Romania with Monaco, and Switzerland with Cameroon, and Turkey with Ukraine. India with Belgium! Seriously, these are some weird, weird couples." He took a deep breath. "I hope we don't race against Turkey and Ukraine. I want to watch that one. Hah."

"Pig," Romano said automatically, but his heart wasn't in it. He was getting more and more nervous as the time approached to start! "I just hope England and I can race early. The more I have to stand around watching, the more nervous I'm going to be."

"Don't be nervous." Before Den could say any more, Finland blew the whistle and gestured everyone to the starting line.

People were still babbling as they approached, so Finland blew the whistle again. "Shut up, everyone!" he called out.

It didn't do much. Then Sweden appeared, in bright pink athletic clothing. "SHUT 'P."

Everyone shut up.

Finland cleared his throat delicately. "All right. You know the rules. Two teams will race at the same time, and will be timed. We have a big board posted for the top three finishers and Latvia will be keeping that up-to-date as each race finishes. But only the top team will win the prize!"

"What's the fucking prize _this_ time, I wonder," Romano muttered, sliding his eyes to his boyfriend with a smirk.

"Not a box of chocolates, I'm guessing," Prussia hissed at him. "Now shut up."

…

First heat: Cameroon with Switzerland, and America carrying Belarus. "Why is she holding a bag?" Den wondered. "That's just going to slow him down."

"Hah. Bloody git just wants to show off that he can carry her and win even with extra weight added."

Prussia cleared his throat. "No, they probably have to do that. If the 'wife' doesn't weigh enough, she has to carry extra weight to make it to the minimum."

"You're _kidding!"_ All his friends turned to him – Den laughing, but the other two acting worried.

"No, not kidding. Didn't you read the rules? Why? What's worrying you?"

"I've been dieting," Arthur moaned. "To make it easier for Romano."

"What's the fucking weight minimum?"

"Forty-nine kilograms."

"Oh. No worries." Arthur and Romano blew out identical sighs.

Prussia tilted his head to the side, considering. "That's kind of surprising, though. Belarus doesn't look that skinny."

"Shh! If she hears you say that, bastard, you are _dead."_

"Kesesese! Yeah, you're right. I'll shut up now."

And he did. The race was close, but Cameroon beat the hero, who began whining and generally acting like a child. "How bloody typical," England sneered, before watching Belarus pull out a knife and begin slashing angrily at the weight bag.

"Get off the course!" Finland yelled, and Sweden, his enforcer, went to drag America and his quarreling "wife" away from the course.

Latvia put the top two finishers on the big billboard; America and Belarus would remain in second until someone displaced them. The friends could hear her vicious bickering all the way across the field, where they waited with the others to see who would be next.

Second heat: "Pick me, pick me," Romano moaned quietly, but Finland announced Turkey and Ukraine versus Prussia and Denmark.

"Wish us luck, guys!" Prussia gave Arthur a showy kiss on the cheek and received one in exchange before heading to the starting line.

"Well, you didn't get your wish," Den laughed as they took their positions. "You won't be able to watch them."

Turkey overheard this as he shouldered Ukraine in the famous "Estonian carry." "Ha ha!" that nation boomed, for once without his mask. "You _can_ watch! We'll be ahead of you the whole time!"

"Get ready," Finland warned sternly, so Prussia scooped Den up in a fireman's carry and prepared to run the course. "Set…go!"

The participants ran off. Prussia had indeed trained well, and he bounded along through the obstacles, loudly "kesesese"-ing and knowing they were going to win. "Go, T.K., go!" Den yelled enthusiastically, pounding on his back.

"Stop hitting me!"

While he was distracted, Turkey and Ukraine passed them. "Shit!" Den yelled, and started pounding again.

Prussia couldn't let them win. He'd assumed Ukraine's bouncing would be a problem – and that was half the reason he'd wanted to watch – but due to the style of carry, she wasn't bouncing at all, and they were making good time. The albino put on a burst of speed, forcing himself and Den through the water obstacle. The finish line loomed before them, but the other pair was keeping pace. They had to win! Imagine how much shit Romano would give them if they let Turkey win! "Stop _hitting me,_ Denmark!" he yelled, totally out of breath, and lunged desperately towards the finish line, hoping something would trip Turkey up before he could get there. "I want to wiiiiiin!"


	196. Wife-Carrying II

**Wife-Carrying II.**

"Hang on, Den," Prussia wheezed out, gripping his friend more tightly. "I'm gonna long-jump to the finish!"

" _Whaa-"_

But the albino leaped through the air – it was the only way he could hope to catch and pass Turkey at this point – and the two of them, locked together, flew over the finish line to land in a heap.

"Damn you, T. K.," Den groaned from underneath him somewhere. "Did we win?"

Prussia pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and peered back to see Turkey and Ukraine floundering at the end of the water obstacle, and Romano and England jumping up and down cheering. "We did! Check it out!"

The Dane turned to see the soaking opponents clambering to their feet, several feet before the finish. "Awesome," he wheezed, peeling his flip-flops from his feet.

"Get off the course!" Finland called out, so all four of them made their way to the side of the course, laughing; Prussia gave the sopping Ukraine a big hug, and she managed a little laugh.

"That's actually a pretty tough race," Turkey admitted. "Wish I'd known; we could have practiced."

"You didn't practice at all?" Prussia explained about his robot practice dummy.

"Hah, no, Ukraine didn't even ask me until this morning, but I figured we could do it."

The albino and Denmark looked at each other with raised eyebrows, but didn't say anything until they'd reached their friends. "Kesesese!"

"You beat bloody America, anyway," Arthur laughed, pointing to the scoreboard, where their names had bumped America and Belarus down to third.

"We are so awesome." Prussia did a little dance move as they stepped back to see which couples would race next.

…

Third heat: Iceland with Liechtenstein, and Bulgaria carrying Estonia. "This one is pointless," Romano muttered. "Bulgaria's a very strong bastard."

"Pfft," Den laughed. "Turkey's a strong bastard, and look what happened to him!"

"Besides," Arthur pointed out, "Liechtenstein is pretty lightweight."

"Kesesese! Wonder if they'll make her carry the weight bag?" They all turned to look, but apparently Liechtenstein weighed more than 49 kilograms. "Okay, so, well, this could be pretty even. Maybe."

Romano poked him. "Let's just watch and see."

"Five Euros says Bulgaria wins," Den added predictably.

"Not taking that bet, bastard."

But Prussia shook his hand. "I will. Five Euros on Iceland."

While England rolled his eyes, the four of them turned to watch the race. Iceland zoomed ahead right at the start, and Prussia began crowing about it, but eventually Bulgaria caught and passed them, and won.

"Five Euros," Den snarked, holding out his hand.

"Well? Do you think I have it in my running shorts? Kesesese! I'll pay you later, somehow," he said, waggling his eyebrows.

Romano turned away from this. "Anyway, I told you Bulgaria would win."

They watched as Finland and Sweden conferred over the clipboard. "America and Belarus remain in third place," the host announced. "Bulgaria and Estonia won this heat but did not beat that time."

England tapped Romano on the shoulder. "I want to beat that wanker."

"Who, America?" The brunet's expression grew panicked. "Uh, well, my goal, you know, my goal is to do the best I possibly can, you know that, bastard. So, I'll do my best."

"That's all we can ask."

…

Fourth heat: India/Belgium versus China and Russia. To everyone's ( _everyone's_ ) amazement, Russia was the wife! "How the fuck is that even possible?" Romano wondered.

"Five Euros on India," Den retorted.

"No way, bastard."

"T. K.? England?"

"No thanks, Den. That's a total easy win."

England nodded in agreement and they turned to watch the race.

"See why I didn't make that damn bet?" Romano said, poking Denmark, as they watched China struggle to hoist Russia onto his shoulders. "I bet they don't even make it to the water obstacle."

"Now that bet I'll take," Prussia laughed, shaking his hand. "Five Euros says China and Russia get to the water obstacle before collapsing."

"Deal. Now shut up."

In a very few seconds Romano had won his five Euros; China had only gone about ten steps before collapsing under his lover's weight. The two of them lay giggling in the sand, ignoring Finland's agitated yelling.

"You're going to go broke…again…Gilbert," the island nation pointed out, grinning at the sight of his two old allies having so much fun in the sand.

"Nah, I'll win it back on the next couple of bets. Did India beat America?" They all turned to Finland, who looked up at Latvia at the billboard and shook his head _no._ "Huh. Well, okay, Romano, it's all up to you! Kesesese! You have to awesomely beat America's time so we can all be in the top three."

"Bastard. You are _such_ _a fucking_ _bastard!"_ Romano wanted to kick the stupid albino potato, but he needed to conserve his energy for the race. "I just wish they'd let us race! I'm getting all antsy."

"Calm down, _mio scuro._ We'll race when we race." England petted his hair like he was a cat, and Romano smiled sweetly at him.

"Next! Romano and England versus Germany and Veneziano!"

"Awesome," the brunet grinned evilly. "Bet on us, bastard," he said to Den, poking him, as the two of them made their way to the starting line.

"Let's get the wives weighed," Finland told them cheerfully, gesturing England onto the scale. "Sixty-eight kilograms. You're fine."

The blond and Romano moved off while Veneziano got on the scale. "Sixty-eight, bastard? You really have been dieting!"

"Git. Didn't want to make it difficult for you. I admit I feel a lot weaker this way. Glad you'll be doing all the work."

"Don't worry, _biondo._ I'll carry you safely, even if we don't beat the stupid macho potato." As he said this, he realized there was some kind of commotion behind them. "What the fuck's going on?"

They turned back to see the others arguing with Finland. "Sorry, Veneziano; you don't weigh enough."

"Well? Let him carry the weight bag," Germany pointed out. "You permitted Belarus to do so."

"Where is that weight bag anyway? _Sweden!_ Where's the weight bag? Veneziano is underweight."

Sweden shook his head. "No bag."

"What do you mean, 'no bag'? Belarus had it. Remember?" The shorter blond poked his boyfriend with the pencil that was tied to the clipboard.

" _Had_ it. R'member? Sh' cut it up. Was filled w'th beans. All th'beans ran out. No bag." Sweden spread his hands apologetically.

With a shrug, Finland turned back to the competitors. "Well, then you can't compete, I'm sorry. Rules are rules."

"Ve, wait a minute, Finland! Germany could be the wife, right?"

Romano laughed so loudly that he nearly fell over, bracing himself against England. "Jesus Christ, what a dumbass," he wheezed. Even England was fighting a smile.

Germany, however, did not seem amused. "Italy, you know you cannot carry me through an obstacle course like this one!"

"Oh, Germany, ve, you're just saying that because you don't want to be the wife. Go on, Finland, change it around so I'm the husband and Germany is the wife, ve." Veneziano beamed at everyone.

"Shit," his brother muttered to England. "I'm going to be laughing so hard I won't be able to race!"

"Focus, loverboy. This ought to be an easy win, at least."

"Yeah, I got it. Just don't let me look at them or I'll lose it."

Finland agreed with a shrug. "Germany, do you want to wear a crash helmet?" he asked nicely, earning snorts from everyone within earshot.

The potato bastard sighed. "No. I will brave it."

"Very well! Contestants to the starting line!"

Romano hunkered down so he could pick England up in the Estonian carry, which he'd chosen to use because it had better balance. "Kiss for luck?" the blond whispered.

"Not here, stupid!" His head whipped around to make sure no one had heard that.

"Oh, okay," England agreed, as Romano scooped him up. "I'll kiss you back here!" He patted his friend's ass and Romano nearly dropped him before hearing the happy English laughter. "Sorry. Couldn't resist."

Meanwhile, Veneziano had gotten Germany into an awkward fireman's carry. "V-ve," he struggled to say, "can we go yet, Finland? I'm afraid I'm going to drop him!"

Sweden laughed at this and gave the starting signal. "Ready – set – go!"

Romano ran off, oblivious to everything but the course before him. He too had practiced efficiently, and he scooted adroitly through the sand obstacle, danced through the middle section, and plowed through the water, forging ahead. "Go, Romano, go! They're catching us!" England yelled out.

What the fuck? How the hell could his idiot brother – burdened with the gigantic macho potato – be _catching_ them? He pumped his legs harder, maintaining his hold on the island nation, and pushed himself to the limits of his endurance as they crossed the finish line, where he collapsed and dropped England into the grass. "Well?"

The blond smiled fondly at him. "I knew you could do it. I'm proud of you."

"Yeah, yeah." They held hands briefly before he turned back to see his stupid brother and Germany lying in the sand obstacle! That was all the way back at the beginning of the race! "What the fuck were you talking about? You said they were catching us!"

"Just trying to motivate you a bit, love. It worked, too, didn't it?"

"I hate you." He rose and extended a hand to pull England up, and when they turned back, everyone at the starting line broke into cheers and applause. "What now?"

"Beats me," the blond answered, but almost before he'd finished speaking, they saw Latvia remove the placard for America and Belarus and replace it with one containing their own names. "Bloody hell! You did it!" He picked Romano up and spun him around, laughing.

" _Now_ you can give me that kiss," he demanded, leaning down to suit the action to the words.

"Mm. You're bloody marvelous."

"You too, _biondo bastardo._ Thanks for dieting."

"Pfft."

When they got back to the starting line, Den and Prussia hugged them and clapped them on the back, but Romano tried to stop them. "Hold on, hold on. What the hell happened with my dumb brother?"

"Are you kidding? West fell off about ten feet into the race."

"It wasn't even Veneziano's fault," Den added, "or at least, it didn't look that way. It looked like Germany just slid right off, and he landed face-first in the sand." Romano and England both laughed at that.

"America's not too happy," Prussia then warned them.

England shook his head. "It's Belarus I'm worried about. What if she tries some revenge tactic? Does she still have that knife?"

"She always has that knife! Stay close to me, Arthur. I'll protect you."

"Hah. Protect Romano. I can defend myself."

Den elbowed them. "Shut up and let's see who's next."

"But you were awesome, Romano! Totally awesome!" When the albino potato gave him a hug and a kiss, he didn't even frown. Of course he was totally awesome.


	197. Wife-Carrying III

**Wife-Carrying III.**

The four friends sat on the ramshackle bleachers, intently watching every couple who participated, nervously hoping they wouldn't be bumped from the leaderboard. Romania with Monaco gave them a run for their money, laughing and shouting (Monaco also occasionally tooting on a small noisemaker to egg her "husband" on), but in the end, those two didn't do quite well enough to beat England and Romano. "Dammit, dammit," that nation muttered, every time someone strong stepped up to the scales.

Predictably, after every mutter: "Will you shut it? Either we're going to win or lose. Stop all this bloody complaining."

"Kesesese! Den and I won't lose."

"Damn right, T. K. We are the kings of obstacle courses." They did a fist bump and Romano smacked Den in the back of the head.

"You're not _the_ kings," England corrected them. "What about Cameroon and Swissy?"

Prussia scoffed. "Never mind Cameroon. He works out all the time; I can live with him beating us. Nothing to cause a problem."

Australia, Austria, Korea and Taiwan all approached Finland. "Shit. What kind of fucking weird combos are going on here?"

They watched as Austria got weighed. "Who the hell's carrying Austria?" Prussia wondered. "I thought he'd be with Hungary."

"Hah! She's going to carry Seychelles, for some reason." Den nudged his friend.

Even Romano pulled out of his fright to swivel his head and look at the two girls, giggling together at the side of the field. "Bizarre. Do you suppose they're actually dating?"

England laughed. "Who cares? It's not like they can beat you, my heroic husband."

"Ack! Shut up!" Dammit, he could feel himself turning red. Still, at least he hadn't had to be the wife. That was still a relief.

Their attention was drawn back to Fin, who shook his head _no_ repeatedly _._ "Looks like Taiwan's awesomely underweight. We'll win by default at this rate!"

"Would you really want to win that way, albino nuisance?" But something else began to happen that they couldn't quite make out. "Wait – what's going on?"

"I can do it, da ze!" Korea yelled from the starting line. He turned in place and roared out, "Hey, _Vietnam!"_

Everyone turned to look for the girl, who came running. "Hah. He's going to swap wives?" When England muttered this, all his friends burst into laughter.

But it seemed Korea had a different plan in mind. They watched him talk earnestly – yet crazily – to both the girls, and when Finland shrugged, he leaped into the air and cackled with glee. "Th's 's insane," Sweden said, throwing his hands in the air in disbelief and walking away a little distance.

Finland agreed loudly, but nobody else really grasped what was going on until Korea scooped up Taiwan like a baby, and then Vietnam climbed up piggyback! "Holy fucking shit," Romano growled. "He can't be serious."

"Ah, you know Korea, he's a total showoff and clown," Prussia reminded him. "He knows he has no chance of winning, so he might as well make a show of it."

Den added with a grin, "Vietnam makes a hell of a weight bag."

Surprisingly, the heavily-burdened Korea did make it to the end of the obstacle course, but it was several actual minutes after Austria and Australia had finished. (Those two hadn't done very well, either.) "Get off the course!" Finland yelled to Korea, who was still carefully mincing along in the water obstacle, trying not to drop his "wives."

"Give me a minute, da ze! This is really hard!" They could hear Taiwan laughing, and everyone watched as Korea finally stepped across the finish line. Both the girls slid down from him and shook his hand before they all scampered back to the bleachers to sit.

"This is it, then," the albino potato said. "Just one left. France and Spain versus Hungary and Seychelles."

"Hah, wonder which bastard will be the wife?" Romano then spluttered as Spain stepped onto the scale. "That is hilarious. Five – no, _ten_ Euros says they don't make it to the finish line."

England bit his lip. "I don't know. Francy-pants can be fairly strong sometimes."

"Kesesese! So can Spain. He was the most fearsome pirate, you know."

" _What?"_ The island nation leaned over and punched Prussia in the face, and soon the two of them were rolling around the bleachers, beating each other up, while Finland called through his megaphone for them to stop. They both ignored this, little sounds of "wanker" and _"Arschloch"_ floating up through the sounds of grunts and pain.

Denmark and Romano scooted back to give them some room to fight. "Five Euros on Prussia."

"You dumb bastard. Ten Euros on England."

"Ten Euros, then." They shook hands.

Nobody else was happy about this fight, though. "Hey, _Angleterre!_ Stop that! We want to race!"

"Race, then, you blasted frog-face!" But the fight went on.

Sweden's voice then boomed out clearly over the PA system. " _Stop fighting, Prussia and England!"_

"Whoa," the albino said, stopping immediately, allowing England's final swing to connect. "Ow."

"Yes, well, just remember who's the bloody fearsome pirate around here, will you?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry, Arthur."

They hugged and kissed each other with grins, making Romano groan again. These stupid bastards would never quit, would they? Still. "Ten Euros," he smirked to Den.

"Forget it! Nobody won!"

"England threw the final punch. He wins."

"Quit it, the pair of you," the exhausted island nation complained. " _I'll_ pay you the bloody ten Euros."

"Hah. Okay." Might as well take it!

Finland picked up the megaphone again. "Are you all finished?" he rapped out sarcastically.

"Yeah, we're awesomely finished fighting! Kesesese!"

"Okay," Fin called out wearily. "France carrying Spain, and Hungary carrying Seychelles."

Everyone in the bleachers focused. "What about your bet?" England remembered, elbowing Romano.

Shit, yes, he'd forgotten. "Yeah, anybody want to take it? Ten Euros says they don't make it."

Den nodded. "Yeah, I'll take that. Ten Euros, France and Spain make it to the finish line."

"Ten Euros, Hungary and Seychelles beat them?" Prussia offered. "Anyone? Anyone?"

"You're on, git." The two erstwhile combatants shook hands as the race began.

Because this was the last race of the day, all the watching nations chose a side and rose from the bleachers to jump and cheer excitedly. "Go, _France!"_ America yelled out.

"Why's he cheering for France?" Den wondered.

The other three all snorted in unison. "Doesn't want to lose to a girl."

Prussia nodded. "Makes sense. Besides, Belarus will be super-pissed if Hungary wins. She might beat him up!"

The race continued; everyone yelled a little longer, and it looked as though the two teams crossed the finish line at the same time. "Well? What the fuck?" Romano tried to see the stopwatch that Finland held, but of course the Nordic nation was thirty feet away. "Who won?"

Sweden and his "wife" conferred intently over the clipboard as the four racers came back with perplexed looks on their faces. "What's going on, _amigos?"_

All the nations in the stands fell silent to hear the answer. "Ahem. Well," Finland began, and then stepped up to the microphone to begin again. "These two teams tied exactly, down to the tenth of a second, which is the limit of our stopwatch's accuracy."

"As long as they didn't beat us, we're fine," England told the jittering Romano. "Settle down."

"Yeah, yeah, well, they must have, or there wouldn't be this discussion, would there? Stupid."

"Wanker."

"However," Fin continued, "there is a problem."

"What problem? What?" Korea demanded. "Did they beat my time?" This caused a general outbreak of laughter.

"As you will all recall, Cameroon and Switzerland placed first. They were in the first race, and everyone else came after them. Prussia and Denmark were only one second shy of the Cameroon team's time."

"Yeah, we're so damn awesome!" Prussia yelled, grabbing Den's hands and doing a little dance in the bleachers.

"Stop that, Prussia!" Finland rapped his pencil on the podium. "There's still a problem!"

The capering duo stopped and focused once more. "Okay, what's the problem?" Den sounded kind of laconic about it. "Did these guys beat us?" He waved a hand at the last four racers.

"No! Let me continue. England and Romano matched your time exactly. _Exactly._ Which means they knocked America and Belarus off the leaderboard and these three teams stayed there for the rest of the day. The problem, then, is that four teams all had the very same finishing time. Prussia and Denmark, Romano and England, France and Spain, and Hungary with Seychelles. We will have to have two tiebreaking races."


	198. Wife-Carrying IV

**Wife-Carrying IV.**

Dead silence fell over the entire stadium. "I can't possibly do that again," Romano whispered to England. "Not as well as I did before."

"You should be all right. I'm not worried about these four," the island nation gestured, "because they must be exhausted. They just ran the race five minutes ago!"

Apparently the four most recent finishers were making the same argument to Sweden and Finland. " _Mon Dieu, Espagne,_ I love you, but I cannot run that race again! I'm so tired!"

Finland flicked France on the ear with the pencil. "Nonetheless. Rules are rules. You may, however, switch places; Spain can be the husband and you the wife." At this, Hungary and Seychelles started talking to each other in frantic whispers that no one else could hear.

"Will you do that, bastard? Carry me this time? Please?" Romano turned his best puppy-dog eyes on England, who smiled and pecked a little kiss on his cheek.

"I thought you were too bloody embarrassed to be the wife?"

"Pfft. If the tomato bastard can deal with it, then I can too." The brunet leaned against him, and they waited for the decisions to be made.

Meanwhile, Den and Prussia had been arguing with each other in whispers as well. "What's the matter with you gits?"

"I asked Den to be the husband this time. I'm _beat._ If we hadn't been jumping up and down screaming and cheering and fighting all day, I might have been able to do it, but…no."

"Well, Viking bastard? I thought you were so damn strong?" Romano poked him in the abs and nearly broke his finger.

"I am, you little nitwit. But I only have flip-flops with me! I can't run in flip-flops!"

"Wear the albino potato's shoes, stupid."

England nudged him. "I can't believe you're trying to help them. You do know we'll be competing against them, too?"

"Shit. Wear the flip-flops."

"I have to, anyway. My feet are bigger than his."

"Come up to the podium," Finland called out.

The four of them rose. England coughed nervously. "I hope I can do this. I've been dieting so strenuously that I feel a little weak. Not to mention all that fighting with Gilbert."

"You'll be fine," Romano promised, more enthusiastically than he actually felt. "Come on."

Finland weighed all the new wives – all four teams had elected to switch positions – and when Hungary passed without needing a weight bag, he gathered them around. "We cannot run all four teams at once. Therefore, to break things up, we will run Spain carrying France versus England carrying Romano."

The half-nation groaned, but Spain began to preen. "Don't worry, _Francia._ We have this in the bag!"

Romano smirked. "You are a total bastard, Spain. You know England always kicks your ass in everything. _Everything._ "

"He wishes," Spain laughed, which almost got England into another fight.

"Contestants, take your positions," Finland barked, to stop this.

France rode piggyback on Spain. "I want to watch us win." He waggled his eyebrows at England, who scowled.

"Shut it, frog-face. Get ready, Romano; I'm going to use the Estonian carry." Romano braced himself and the blond scooped him up adroitly, only staggering a little. "Bloody hell, what have you been eating?"

Their opponents laughed and laughed, and the embarrassed Romano (whose face was now down near England's ass) tried to ignore it and muttered, "Shut the fuck up, all you damn bastards."

Finland gave the signal to start.

As they ran off, Romano desperately wished he'd chosen to ride piggyback. He couldn't stand not knowing what was going on! By looking off to the side, he was able to see the tomato bastard's shoes nearby, but spatially he was all confused and couldn't tell whether they were winning or losing! "Go, bastard, go faster," he moaned out, holding on tightly.

"I'm going," England wheezed. "Stop bitching."

So he shut up, still trying to work out who was winning. Then he heard Spain sing out, "Lovi, if we win, you owe me a date!"

Romano roared out, "Fuck that, you stupid tomato head!" He was fuming. _Fuming._ What an absolute dickhead! And he could tell England was angry, too, because he picked up the pace a little.

Apparently the beardy bastard had gotten pretty pissed off, because Spain started yelling, "Ow, _Francia_ , stop smacking my ear! Stop!"

Romano felt England put on a last burst of speed and he then saw the finish line pass underneath them. "Did we win?"

The blond collapsed, flopping the half-nation awkwardly into the grass. "Bloody hell. I don't even care."

"Well, I do, stupid!"

But the opponents were not yet at the finish line. He turned back to see them beating the crap out of each other in the water obstacle. "You are so _weak!_ " France yelled as he fought. "I cannot believe you dropped me!"

"Why were you hitting me on the ear, _tío?_ It's all your fault!"

"Because you asked Romano for a date! _Merde!_ I hate you! Hate you, hate you, _hate you!_ "

England sighed. "Spain is a brainless wanker."

"Cheh, yeah, well, we knew that already, didn't we?" Romano laughed a little.

Finland had picked up the megaphone again and repeatedly yelled into it, but the fighting bastards didn't stop, and so the weary island nation and his boyfriend plodded back to the podium. "How did we do?" Romano asked Sweden.

"Y'beat them," he answered with a smirk.

The brunet kicked the podium and scowled. "I _know that!_ "

"C'lm d'wn. Y'beat your previous time by 1 second."

England smiled tiredly and grabbed Romano's arm to lead him to the seats. "That's good, then. Thanks, Sweden."

Good? _Good?_ Even though they'd won, Romano felt angry now. The weakened, unprepared England had managed to beat _his_ time by a full second, even though Romano had trained nonstop for two months? What a showoffy bastard.

Still, he wasn't going to complain. Now he just hoped they'd beat the other two morons. Possibly Den's flip-flops would be a help there, Romano laughed to himself. "Hey, wait a minute," he suddenly realized with dawning excitement. "If we beat our previous time by one second, we're tied with Cameroon and Swissy now! Holy shit."

"Bugger. Well, I'm not doing _another_ tiebreaking race. Not unless I get to be the wife."

"Dammit, you idiot! You were faster than I was! I should be the wife!"

"Iggy should be the wife," America smirked nastily from behind them. "He's good at that submissive shit."

"You're a tosser, America. You'll notice we beat _you_ …both times?" England's expression was just as nasty as the burger bastard's, and Romano (and America) shivered. Dammit, his boyfriend was vicious. Good thing they were dating. He hoped England would never let that evil side out towards _him._

And then he shivered once more, hoping Belarus wasn't listening. He glanced around nervously but she was nowhere in sight. "Where's _your_ 'wife'?" he dared to mock America.

"Pfft. Went home with China and Russia. She was pretty pissed."

Wisely, neither of the others answered that. Romano scanned the bleachers and realized that a lot of people had left. That kind of made sense. If they knew there was no hope of winning, he'd leave too!

They saw that Finland had by now taken the megaphone to the water obstacle, where France and Spain had continued to fight. As they ignored him, he began hitting each of them with it. "Stop fighting and get off the course!"

"I hate you, _Espagne._ I can't believe you let _Angleterre_ win."

"Don't blame this on me!" Spain grabbed the megaphone and hit France in the head, and then flung it angrily into the water.

" _Get off the course!"_ Sweden hollered into the PA system. They ran off the course, still hurling invective at each other.

Dejected, Finland picked up the poor, soaking, fallen megaphone and slouched back to the podium. "Okay," he said weakly into it, after scowling at the clipboard for a while to calm down. "Last race. Prussia and Denmark versus Hungary and Seychelles."

"Loser buys the drinks!" Romano called out to them as Den scooped up his albino wife. Both of them looked back and flashed him a thumbs-up.


	199. Wife-Carrying V

**Wife-Carry V.**

"Well, this _totally sucks!"_ Finland yelled, flinging the stopwatch away with such vigor that it landed in the water obstacle and sank. "Damn it!"

Luckily the four new contestants had finished their race by that point. Hungary and Seychelles skipped back to the angry host nation happily, while Den tore off his flip-flops and stuffed them in a trash can with a curse. "Stupid things."

"Hey, at least we beat the girls," Prussia pointed out, laughing. "Come on, let's go see why Finland's got his panties in a bunch."

"Well?" Den demanded, when they got there.

But Fin wouldn't even speak, he was so angry. Sweden shrugged. "Y'beat your other time by a second."

"Woohoo!" Prussia yelled out, dancing around. "Even with flip-flops you are The Most Awesome!" He hugged Denmark, who finally began to smile.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Romano and Arthur came running over. "Did you say they beat their time by a second?" the island nation panted out. "That means they're tied with us again. Bloody hell."

" _And_ with Cameroon and Switzerland," Finland scowled. "You see why I'm so angry? I want to get some dinner, but we're going to be here all damn day running tiebreakers!"

"Well, no, we're not, bastard." Romano flapped his hand at the stadium. "Cameroon and Swissy left. So that means the only tiebreaker will be us versus these bastards!" He poked Den in the abs and laughed a bit.

"Fuck," said Fin, Arthur, and Den all at once, while Sweden nodded apologetically.

"Except we can't," Prussia then pointed out, "because you threw the stopwatch in the water."

"What?" Arthur looked like he wanted to throttle Finland, but he didn't. "Bloody _hell!_ "

"Look. Ev'ryb'dy just _calm down._ We c'n run a simple race. Simple. No carrying. Four nations through th' course at th'same time. First one through w'ns the whole day."

"That's a bunch of bullshit, Sve." Den punched him in the arm.

"What? Why? It's totally awesome. It'll all be over in one minute. Come on, you guys! Line up and let's go! Kesesese!" Prussia knew he'd win. Den was beat from running the carry race, and as for Romano and Arthur – _hah._ "Losers buy the drinks," he added.

"Fine by me, you stupid moron." Romano stepped up to the starting line. "Come on, bastards. We don't need a fucking stopwatch for this one."

Den growled at him. "I don't have any shoes!"

"Git. You ran in flip-flops and still shaved a second off your time. This ought to be easier." Arthur sighed, but joined his friends at the starting line.

"Yes, all right, all right." Denmark looked around the stadium but only America remained in the bleachers, staring at his shoes dejectedly. Pfft. The Viking took the starting position. "Set us off, Fin."

"Ready, set, go," Finland said wearily, and the four contestants ran off.

…

"Shit, _shit,"_ Den wheezed. Running barefoot was an asinine idea! He tripped and fell against Prussia, who stumbled and grabbed Romano for balance; the brunet, not wanting England to win, shoved him hard in the back, and all four of them landed in a big splashy pile at the beginning of the water obstacle.

England sat up and shook wet hair out of his eyes. "Wankers. I should have guessed something like this would happen. Screw this bloody race."

"This is the stupidest day I ever lived through," Denmark agreed. He pushed himself up out of the water and groaned.

Prussia had begun groping in the water, laughing. "Hey, Finland! Here's your stopwatch!" He brandished it and shook water all over everyone.

Romano remained lying in the shallow water, panting, and his weary contribution to the conversation was simply "Bastards."


	200. Who, what?

**Who, what?**

"All you wankers just shut the hell up!" England roared out, terrifying the hospital staff and making Romano laugh.

Everyone immediately shut up. Germany ran a hand over his hair in exasperation, while Den leaned against the wall and blew out a breath. On the other side of the room, Veneziano breathed out a surreptitious "ve," still clinging to his older brother's arm. Romano snorted and cuffed the idiot on the side of the head.

"Now," the island nation went on authoritatively, "this simply will not do. Veneziano, can you please stay quiet? No crying, no shrieking? Please?"

Veneziano nodded quietly, making a zipper sign across his lips with a quavering smile.

"Good. Romano, since your brother is going to be quiet, you can shut that trap of yours as well; there's no need to keep yelling at him if he's not talking."

Romano smirked and coyly made the zipper sign as well, and England laughed at him a little before turning to the fuming (but now silent) Denmark.

"Den? Will you stop arguing and let Germany speak? Obviously there's something he wants us to know."

"If he'd just get on with it!" Den shook his axe at Germany, who scowled back at him, unafraid.

"Put a sock in it, bastard," Romano groaned wearily to his Viking friend, "or we'll be here all damn day. Go on, pot—Germany. Tell us what happened."

Den obligingly shut up and Germany cleared his throat once more. "Prussia had gone outside this morning to pick some apples. He wanted to make a surprise for all of you."

"Apple cake?" Den asked, totally distracted from the hospital situation. "I love apple cake."

"Shut up!" everyone chorused at him. "Apple _brandy_ ," Germany continued with a little laugh. "He was going to make some for later in the year."

"And?" England asked delicately, when Germany stopped talking and began fidgeting.

"He f-fell out of the tree, and hit his head."

"Broke his neck?" Romano asked cheerfully.

"N-no. He's physically fine." Germany stopped talking again.

"Hah." Den now felt much more optimistic. "Broke his fucking brain, probably. Is he _mentally_ all right?" he asked with a laugh. The others all suppressed grins or smirks, as was their preference.

"No." Germany sighed. "He – he has – has amnesia."

All four of the others burst out laughing, and Germany's expression got even more fearful. "Ve, let me go see him, Germany! I bet when he sees me he'll get his mind back, because we're such good friends!"

"Yes, all right, Italy. Come in."

When the two of them had entered the hospital room, both Den and Romano stopped laughing. "There's no fucking way, bastards. He's faking it for the attention."

"That's what I think too. Want to make a bet?"

England snorted. "How can we bet on it? We all know he's faking it."

"Okay, how about this? First one to make him crack gets free drinks all night, courtesy of the other two." Den nodded.

"Deal," Romano said instantly, shaking his hand. "Bastard?" He turned to England.

"Yeah, I'll take that." He shook. "Let's wait until those two come out, because when he does crack, we don't want him to attribute it to one of them."

"Okay." The three of them stood around, and England took the opportunity to apologize to the nurses for his earlier bellowing. They smiled politely at him and his friends, trying to ignore the towering axe.

Finally Germany led Veneziano out by the hand, followed by a nurse. "You three may go in now," the blond said.

"Ve, it's scary. He doesn't even know he's a nation!"

"Pfft. The dumbass _isn't_ a nation. Let's get in there, morons." Romano pushed past the lovebirds and entered the hospital room.

Prussia lay on the bed, smiling vacantly around; he was on an IV drip and wore an ugly cheap hospital gown, but otherwise seemed very much as usual. No bruises, no broken bones. Just a slightly vague expression, almost relaxed compared to his usual manic self.

"Hey, bastard," Romano laughed, as Den leaned the axe against the wall.

"Wow! Why did you bring an axe?" the sick nation asked, wide-eyed. "And why are you calling me a bastard?"

England and Den nodded at each other forcefully because Romano was already smirking at his bedridden friend. "Hi, Gilbert," the island nation greeted him.

"Yeah, I know my name is Gilbert. Who are you?"

Well, they'd have to roll with it, Romano supposed. He 'introduced' all of them: "This is Arthur, here's Mathias, and my name is Antonio," he said, trying to surprise the bastard. But other than blinking once (which could have meant anything), Prussia didn't react at all. England, however, turned to stare and then smacked Romano in the head, and Den started laughing at him.

Pfft. This might be harder than they'd thought. The brunet pulled up a chair and plopped into it. "How long are you going to be in the hospital?"

"Depends. That tall guy – he says he's my brother? – he wants me to stay here until I get my memory back, but I don't like that idea."

No shit. The idiot would want to go to some meetings and have everyone fuss over him. And no wonder Germany wanted to leave him here! Probably wanted some peace and quiet. Romano could certainly see the benefit of that – though the hospital was no doubt expensive.

"So," Prussia went on, "I've asked to go home today. Because there's nothing physically wrong with me."

Denmark smirked. "I'll have to do a pretty thorough examination later." He waggled his eyebrows; both England and Romano groaned.

"What do you mean?" Prussia's tone sounded so normal that Romano was beginning to freak out. "Are you a doctor?"

"Pfft. Doctor Denmark." Romano nudged the Viking in the ribs with his elbow.

"Shut up." Den put a hand on the dark hair and squeezed.

England, acting bored, yawned. "Who's going to take care of Gilbird while you're sick?"

"G- _Gilbird?_ " Prussia asked. "Who, or what, is that?"

Romano narrowed his eyes. He'd have to work harder. "Gilbird is your fucking stupid little pet bird, shithead." Surely this insulting language would irritate Prussia into normality?

But no. "I have a pet! How fun. I can't wait to see him."

Aha! "How did you know it was a 'him,' bastard?"

"Who would name a girl bird 'Gilbird'?" the albino countered. "Pass me that bowl of Jell-O."

England wearily passed the Jell-O. "That reminds me, our next meeting is in Switzerland."

All the others stared at him. "How the fuck did you get from Jell-O to Switzerland?"

"Meeting?" Prussia added delicately.

Ignoring him, the island nation answered, "Jell-O shooters – getting drunk – chocolate boat – Switzerland."

By the time he finished that sentence, both Den and Romano had begun to groan. "What's a chocolate boat?" Prussia asked.

"Fuck this," Romano snapped out, rising and beginning to pace. "I don't want to be stuck here all damn day."

"Think harder," England suggested to him, taking his hand.

The bedridden nation watched all this with an interested eye, but made no comment.

"I know!" Denmark suddenly leaped up and planted a kiss on the albino's lips, slipping his tongue out. "Mm, missed you, T. K. Been worried about you."

But Prussia recoiled from this assault. "Wh-what are you _doing?_ I'm a guy, you pervert!" Affronted, he wiped his lips and pulled the hospital bedsheet up higher, like a shield.

Romano laughed at Den. "Well, maybe you should tell him about how their house got broken into last night," he started. Everyone in the room appeared baffled. "Remember? Germany said his entire spoon collection got stolen."

Three heads swiveled to stare at Prussia, who kept the blank expression on his face. "Is this something to do with me?" he asked politely. "I really have no idea what you're talking about."

"This is total _bullshit!_ We know you're faking it, albino potato."

"Ha ha ha ha!" When Prussia laughed like this, sounding like America, all of them froze in place and then they all knew it was serious. If the albino laughed instead of snickering his usual "kesesese," something must be terribly wrong.

"Oh, dear." England put a hand to the pale forehead. "Are you sure you're going to be all right, Lucy?" he asked.

Prussia smirked. "Yes, Ethel, I'm totally – oops!" He slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide, and his friends, whooping in laughter, began ripping the sheet off his bed. "Damn it, Arthur! I was doing so well!" He fought to keep the sheet covering him.

"We totally knew you were faking it, moron." Romano poked him in the chest, eliciting a real "kesesese."

"Well, you can't blame me for trying. There was nothing else going on this week." He sighed and pressed the button for a nurse's attention.

She and Germany entered the room with Veneziano remaining in the doorway. "Mr. Pfeilschmidt?" the nurse asked.

"It's _Beilschmidt!_ " everyone yelled, including the patient. "Hey, West," he said cheerfully, "Veneziano."

"Ve, you got your brain back!"

"Such as it is," Romano snorted, and Prussia poked him with a grin.

"Get me out of here," he told the nurse, who shooed everyone out of the room.

"Bar opens in ten minutes," Den called back over his shoulder, as the albino rose from the bed.

…

Once he'd been discharged, the four friends left the relieved Germany and Veneziano in order to go out drinking. "You'll be okay, T. K.? I mean, boozing it up? How much medication's in your system?"

"Pfft. I wouldn't let them give me any, because I knew I'd need a clear head to fake you out." He pouted. "I can't believe I caved in after only ten minutes!"

"Because we are the experts, you know." England patted the white hair. "You could still fake it with everybody else. Go to the next meeting and pretend you had a relapse. We'd play along."

"Yeah, we know you like your little dramas," Den agreed. "Though I can't believe you didn't react at all when Romano said his name was Antonio!"

"Hah, that one almost got me. Almost. I mean, of all the names you could have chosen–!" He hugged the half-nation. "What else would you guys have tried, if I hadn't backed down just then?"

"Would have showed you my underwear," Romano snorted, "maybe."

Den pouted a little himself. "You didn't believe your spoons were stolen? That was a good one, too."

"Nah. West would have said something about a break-in if that was true. And oh, by the way, since you guys were totally fun about the whole thing…drinks are on me."

"Er, yeah, okay, but where are you getting the money, Lucy?"

"I'm going to sell my apple brandy when it's done!"

Three groans, six rolled eyes. "No you're not, dumbass."

"Why not? It's really good!"

"You're going to save it for us," Den told him, patting him on the head again. "As payback."

"And anyway, stupid, even if that did happen, it still doesn't explain how you're going to pay for our drinks _tonight!_ " Romano smacked him in the arm.

"Ow, stop. That was the arm with the IV."

"Poor little wanker. Tell you what. Drinks are on me tonight. Then we'll have a tasting session when Gilbert's apple brandy is done, and see if it's good enough to sell. If not, he has to pay me back for tonight. That way you've got time to save up, just in case."

"My apple brandy is awesome," Prussia retorted, "but I can live with those conditions."

"Fine by me, bastards. Cash staying in my pocket is always a good deal."

"Fine by me, as long as we make a bet about something."

"Here's the bar," the albino pointed out cheerfully. "Let's go!"


	201. Strategy

**Strategy.**

Prussia was in a pickle. There was no other word for it.

Tonight he'd be meeting his friends at Den's house for poker and the usual bullshit. And tonight was the night he was supposed to debut his homemade apple brandy.

In the last six weeks, he'd gone from "earnestly intent" to "waffling about the project" to "giving up entirely." When he'd awakened this morning – after not even making the attempt to distill any brandy – he'd decided to slouch along to Den's empty-handed, beg his friends' forgiveness, and just pay Arthur back for the amnesia night drinks. Hell, they hadn't even had that much to drink that night, and he'd managed to scrounge up some cash during the last six weeks. He knew they'd go easy on him. They were his friends! They knew how lazy he was.

But this morning, West had done something terrible. Something that had put Prussia into this pickle, and at the moment he could see no way out of it. _Completely out of the blue, his little brother had come home from the store with twelve bottles of apple brandy!_ Prussia started hyperventilating again. Why had West done this? It wasn't even a drink they usually kept in the house.

That didn't really matter, though. Kesesese! Who cared _why?_ What mattered was that now, right at this minute, their house had twelve bottles of apple brandy in it. Which was exactly the number of bottles he'd promised to provide to his friends.

Twelve bottles of apple brandy, in a cardboard box on the kitchen counter…

…and West sat there in the same room with it, barefoot in sweats, working on a spreadsheet, completely oblivious to the turmoil in the albino's frantic brain.

He would have to be subtle, he knew, to get that store-bought brandy away from West and into his car for the trip to Den's. And this is what had him in a pickle.

Prussia was a great strategist. Everybody knew that! He could outfight anybody (except maybe Den, or Russia); he could plan successful attacks, whether on land, sea, or in the air, whether martial or pranks. But he couldn't plan a subtle maneuver to save his life.

So, he had a couple of options. He got himself a fresh cup of coffee while he enumerated them internally; Germany continued to ignore him and work on the spreadsheet.

One: he could clang his brother on the head with a frying pan, knock him out, take the brandy and run.

This was a problem only in two respects: it was far too early to get to Den's (but he could dick around in Flensburg for a while to kill time), and he felt kind of guilty about bashing West in the head. Because there would be repercussions, oh, yes. And…he did not want to receive any retaliatory strike!

Two: he could suggest that something outside the house required West's urgent attention, then once the blond was out of the house, proceed as above.

This was only a problem because he couldn't think of anything that would require attention! He bit his nails and then swigged some coffee.

Three (really a corollary to two): he could sneakily telephone Veneziano, and ask him to call Germany and beg him to come visit Venice.

And of course _that_ presented three big fat problems! Veneziano would want to know why, would not be able to keep this a secret from West in the long run, and would probably tell Romano, too, which would fuck up the whole plan! " _Scheisse,"_ he muttered.

"Mm?" Germany asked delicately, still typing, eyes on the screen.

"Aw, nothing. I'm going down to my room for a while," he muttered, downing the last of the coffee and putting the mug in the sink.

"Okay."

He escaped to his bedroom, flung himself on the bed, and tried to focus _._ He _had_ to come up with a plan.

…

An hour later, just before lunch, the albino finally emerged from the basement with a new plan. He'd make West take him to lunch. Ditch him with a fake trip to the men's room. Take a cab home, swipe the apple brandy, stow it in the back seat of his beat-up old VW, and hasten back to the restaurant. West would pay for the meal, and then when they got home, Prussia would leave for Den's place before his brother had a chance to get inside and notice the missing bottles. "Kesesese!" He'd known something would occur to his awesome brain eventually. He was just glad it had done so quite early in the day, early enough to put this plan into action. "Hey, let's go out to lunch, my awesome _Bruder._ "

Germany looked up. Apparently he'd been sitting in that chair, totally focused, for the last hour! Prussia couldn't resist poking him in the shoulder. "You want to go to lunch?" the blond asked.

"Didn't I just say that? Come on, let's go." He ran for his shoes and jacket before any questioning could begin.

"Yes, all right." Germany came out to the front of the room and found his shoes and jacket as well.

Kesesese!

…

Part one: Aced!

Part two: Aced! He tucked a blanket around the case of brandy in the back seat of his car, for camouflage, and jumped back into the cab. _Scheisse_ , this cab ride was eating up all his spare change – but then, if he delivered the brandy, he wouldn't need to pay Arthur back, so he didn't really need the cash. "Kesesese!" The cab driver jumped a little bit at this random laughter, but Prussia didn't give a flying fuck. He was so awesome!

Back at the restaurant: "Are you feeling all right?" his brother asked. "You were in the bathroom for a long time, and your face is all red. If you're coming down with something, you should stay home tonight, and not go to Denmark's place. You don't want to make your friends sick."

"Ah, seriously, West, it's nothing, I'm fine, let's eat, come on!" He picked up his beer and chugged it just so he wouldn't have to talk.

"If you say so."

…

"Hey! DEN!" Prussia struggled up the porch steps under the weight of the case of brandy and kicked at his boyfriend's front door. "Hey!"

Romano yanked the door open. "Stop acting like a hoodlum, you idiot. Get in here." As Prussia pushed past him, he jerked his chin at the box. "That the homebrew?"

"Kesesese! Yes, and it's totally awesome. I'll sell it and make a million Euros." He staggered into the kitchen, trying to plan just how he'd manage to sell his homemade brandy for more than store-bought, completely forgetting it was not actually his own manufacture.

"Wanker." Arthur, standing by the table, took the case from him and set it on the table. "We'll be the judges of that."

"Where's Den?" But before he could get too agitated, the Viking hurried into the room laughing. "What's so funny?"

"Pfft. Nothing. Just happy to see all my friends." He pecked a kiss on the white cheek while Romano and Arthur suppressed snorts.

"Anything need to be done?" Prussia dusted his hands together. "I'll take a bottle out to the dining room table. Somebody think of a good poker drinking game."

"Yeah, yeah." Romano shoved him and his bottle out of the kitchen. "Go. Get out of my way!"

"Kesesese! You need to get drunk tonight, Romano! You need to calm down."

"Hah. I'm calm. I'm calm and prepared for your usual crap. Now shut up and sit down!"

…

Moments later all four of them sat around the dining room table. Prussia showily uncorked the bottle and poured a little into each of the glasses that stood ready, while Den slit open the deck of cards and began to shuffle.

Arthur took the bottle from his friend's hand. "I guess you recycled old bottles, yeah?"

Prussia nearly jumped, but he saw Romano eying him suspiciously, so he kept himself in check and acted cool. "Yeah. I'm going to get custom labels made if you guys like this stuff, but for now, I just washed out old bottles and used them." Damn, he was good. He hadn't even thought about that, but his awesome brain came out with the right answer in no time! He buffed his nails on his shirt.

"Well?" Den finished dealing. "Let's have a toast. See how good this shit is."

Everyone raised a glass and toasted Prussia's efforts. "Cheers, Gilbert."

Everyone delicately sipped, testing it out. Prussia waited a few seconds to see their reactions (three delicate frowns), and then everyone took a bigger drink.

"Bastard!" Romano spat his back into the glass; Arthur began coughing, and Den just gave the glass a funny look before pushing it away. "What the fuck is this stuff?"

"Apple brandy! What the hell did you expect?"

Arthur finally stopped coughing long enough to speak. "Tastes like shit." Den and Romano fiercely nodded agreement.

Prussia eyed his glass with a raised white eyebrow. How could it taste like shit? This was one of the top German brands!

Ah, he understood. They were just giving him crap so he would lose the bet. "Kesesese! Nice try. You three are not subtle at all," he crowed, forgetting just how unsubtle he'd been all morning.

"Pfft. Drink it," Den told him with a poke.

Swat. "Okay." He poured the whole glass down his throat at once, and began gagging almost immediately. "What the _fuck?_ "

"Did it go bad?" Arthur picked up the bottle and sniffed it. "This even _smells_ like shit."

Den kept a pack of matches at the base of the dining room candelabra. Romano picked up the pack, struck a match, and dropped it into his glass. "Hey!" Denmark yelled. "You'll set the whole damn house on fi—" He interrupted himself as the match sizzled and went out.

"Gilbert," Arthur growled.

"Don't look at me!" He waved his hands back and forth in a panic. "This is the best stuff money can buy!"

Three faces glared at him. "'Buy,' bastard?"

"Uh."

"What the hell are you talking about, T. K.?" Den leaned over and whacked him in the head.

"Ow."

Arthur's sarcastic British voice chimed in. "My guess is he bought a case of brandy rather than paying me back for the drinks."

"Which is fucking stupid," Romano pointed out, "because a case of brandy would cost a lot more than the piddling amount we spent on drinks that night."

Den snorted. "But he wouldn't want to be seen caving in, am I right?" They all turned back to the albino. "Well?"

With a sigh he deflated and decided to confess it all. After all, if this was a bad bottle of brandy, they'd need to notify the distillery to do a recall.

By the end of his first sentence both those angry boys Romano and Arthur were scowling at him, but Den just laughed and laughed. "You're such an idiot," he said fondly. "You can't out-prank us. The fates are against you."

"Hey, it would have worked if the brandy hadn't been bad! Come on, let's check the rest of the case and see if they're all bad. I'll have to call the distillery and tell them about this."

So all four of them scrambled back into Den's kitchen and took turns uncorking the bottles, pouring out a test measure, and tasting it. "This is shit – this is shit – still shit –" Romano announced this type of thing after each sip.

"Just shut it, git. Tell us if it's _not_ shit." Arthur sniffed another glassful. "I don't know what the hell they did wrong, though. Maybe they didn't seal the bottles properly? The mixture went off?"

Den drew out the last bottle. "Hah! You left the receipt in the box," he laughed, drawing forth a white piece of paper. "Even if this had been good stuff, we would have figured it out from that." He unfolded the paper, presumably to see how much West had paid for the brandy. _"What?"_

Everyone crowded around. "What?" Romano asked, watching Den's eyes hurry across the paper.

The Viking threw it down on the table so they could all read the neat handwriting.

 _Dear Prussia,_

 _Please don't let your friends drink all this slop. I emptied the bottles and replaced the contents with a mixture of weak coffee, apple juice, beer, cough syrup, and a lot of distilled water._

 _You still think you are the best prankster in Europe?_

 _If you would like to drink the actual brandy, please invite your friends over tonight. I decanted it all into the big sports jug._

 _Germany_

 _PS – please remember to properly recycle the empty brandy bottles and the cardboard box._

"Jesus Christ!" Romano yelled, slamming his fist down on the table. "What a fucking _bastard!"_

But the other three burst into laughter and happily tossed all the empties into Den's recycle trash. "Come on, Romano, get your coat. We'll go make Germany's life hell tonight." Den ruffled the dark hair.

"Pfft. And we can strategize about how to get him back," Arthur agreed with a grin. "Come on, loverboy."

Prussia stood fidgeting in the middle of the kitchen. "Uh…you guys aren't mad at me?"

Romano finally broke out of his anger and laughed a little. "I'm always mad at you, albino potato. Come on, let's go piss off your malicious prankster brother."


	202. The Best Prankster in Europe

**The Best Prankster in Europe.**

"Pull in here," Prussia directed Denmark, pointing to the parking lot of a supermarket. "I think we can get everything we need."

After the car had been parked, the four friends tumbled out of Den's car. In an effort to prank Germany back, they planned to buy a sports jug identical to the one he already owned, and fill it with a similar fake liquid to serve him. But, as Romano had pointed out during the drive from Den's place, the reason the four of them had been so quick to discover the original prank was the lack of alcohol content in the drink. If West had added some actual booze to the mix, they might have actually drunk it, thinking only that Prussia's brandy-making skills sucked. So they'd understood that to effectively coax the tall blond into drinking it, they'd have to add a serious measure of actual apple brandy to the jug to give it the proper flavor.

"I'll go pick out the jug," Prussia directed. "Den, you get the brandy; Arthur and Romano can get the other junk."

"Got it," Arthur nodded, and they split up on their individual missions. When they met at the checkout counter, with distilled water, brandy, coffee, cough syrup, and a sports jug, Prussia pulled out his wallet and paid for all the items with his very last bit of cash. After all, it was his brother who had screwed them over. Spending the money to prank him back was somehow quite, quite satisfying.

…

In the supermarket parking lot they mixed up the liquid in the jug, with Den adding the two full bottles of apple brandy last. "The drive to Prussia's place will help mix it all up," he explained, and everyone nodded.

"Okay, so, we all understand the plan?" Romano asked. "Den will park the car, the albino potato will let me and England in the front door, and then Den will sneak in the downstairs with the jug, right?"

"Right. Then we can switch jugs once we figure out where West put the original one. We can drink from that one, and serve him from this one all night." Prussia snorted. As if his brother could ever actually out-think him! Especially not when his friends were here to help him with the mission.

After checking the lid of the jug for a watertight seal, Den put it in the trunk and flashed the car keys. "Let's go."

…

The albino unlocked the downstairs door. "Just take it in and set it inside my bedroom," he whispered. "If West is down at the bar, we don't want him noticing you. I'll try to get him to come upstairs."

"Right." Den hauled the filled jug from the trunk and headed inside.

Prussia led his other friends to the front door. "West? Hey, where the hell are you?" he called out. Lights were on in the kitchen, but no sign of Germany. _"Weeeest!"_

Den came tiptoeing up the stairs, shrugging. "No sign of him down there."

"Well, if he's not here, he's not here. We can still drink the brandy and play poker," Arthur pointed out.

" _Scheisse._ But yeah, might as well. Let me go poke around and see if I can find where he stashed the real stuff." The albino ran downstairs to the bar area.

While he was gone, his friends opened cabinets and the fridge, looking for snacks. "This was pretty fucking stupid, bastards. We should have picked up some tastier snacks at the store. Now we're going to be stuck eating German shit all night." Romano kicked the pantry door open.

"Deal with it, git. At least we have the brandy. If you drink enough, you won't notice the food."

But Romano backed out of the pantry quickly. "Looks like the potato bastard stuck the sports jug in here," he pointed.

Den peeked in to verify this. "Well, it matches the one we bought. _Hey, T. K.!"_ he bellowed, before turning to see Prussia right behind him. "Oops. Here's the stuff."

"Oh, good. Just bring it out and put it on the countertop." He and Romano stood back so Den could lift the jug, and –

"What the fuck?" the Viking wondered, as he easily lifted it with one hand. "This is empty."

"What? It can't be!" Prussia grabbed it with both hands and shook it. Sounds of sloshing liquid failed to reach their ears. "Fuck! Did he drink it all? Maybe he's upstairs sleeping it off!" _Scheisse,_ this was pissing him off so much. It would serve West right, if he'd slurped up twelve whole bottles of brandy at one sitting, though. He'd have the world's biggest hangover tomorrow, and he, Prussia, would make his brother's life a misery just to pay him back. With a growl he plonked the empty jug on the table and then plonked his ass into a chair next to it. "What a dick," he sighed.

"Is this the right jug?" Arthur wondered. "Maybe the real one is somewhere else, down at the bar or something?"

"Nope." Prussia sighed again. "This is the only one we own."

Den started to unscrew the lid. "At least we could tell if this was recently used. If it had a lot of apple brandy in it, it would either be damp from that, or from Germany washing it out, or something. You know how dry these things get when they've been unused for a while. Oh, shit," he suddenly moaned. "What now?" He reached into the jug and pulled out a piece of paper. Somehow they all knew it was a note from Germany, and waited anxiously to see what he'd written.

 _Dear Prussia and friends,_

 _You_ still _think you are the best prankster in Europe? Too slow! I have taken the jug of apple brandy to Italy's home for a celebration. See you later!_

This one was unsigned. Three of them stood with dropped jaws, while Den just laughed and laughed.

Predictably, Romano snarled out, "Well, this sucks!" and kicked the table leg.

"It's not good, I agree," Arthur added.

But Prussia stood tapping the letter against his cheek. "Okay. We've got to go on. I cannot let that bastard brother of mine get the better of me!"

"What do you mean, 'go on'?" Den seemed a bit confused by the comment.

"Go to Veneziano's place! Honestly, how can you be such a dope? It's not that far, and I have to somehow, somehow come out on top of this." He threw the letter on the table. "Are you in?"

Romano caved first. "I don't mind. I'm always happy to visit my _fratello._ At least the snacks are bound to be edible. _"_

"This brandy's becoming like the bloody Holy Grail." Arthur snorted and stood up. "But I'm in. I'd planned to spend the whole night with you gits anyway, so, it doesn't bother me if we're chasing brandy around Europe or playing poker."

"I'm in," Den laughed, clapping his boyfriend on the shoulder, "because I want to see what you do to him! Do you want to take the jug we made?"

"Hmm, no. I bet he's expecting something like that. Let's drive and think. We can probably come up with something along the way."

As they headed back to Den's car, Romano cast a longing look back towards the house. "Shame we had to waste that new brandy on the jug of slop, though."

"Don't worry about it! There will be plenty to drink at Veneziano's place. He and West aren't going to be able to polish off all that liquor. Twelve bottles' worth? Pfft. Come on, let's go."

So they went.

…

But they must have been tired, or something. By the time they reached Venice, the best prank they could come up with was to make the potato bastard play bartender, accept glasses of brandy from him, and dump theirs down the drain when he wasn't looking. This way, he and Veneziano would get drunk, but the rest of them would all be sober enough to enjoy the sight. Romano sighed. Well, it was better than nothing.

When they pulled up, the exterior lights of Veneziano's elegant home were blazing. "Is the idiot having a party? And he didn't invite me? What a shithead," Romano muttered. He could understand his _fratello_ not wanting all these other bastards around, but he should have invited his own brother! They all got out of the car. At least they were feeling optimistic about their chances of _this_ prank working out okay.

"Er," England said, stopping on the pathway that led from the driveway to the front steps.

"Er what, bastard?"

The Brit lifted a hand and pointed to a white rectangle taped to the front door.

"Holy _shit."_ Romano punched the albino potato in the arm. "Are you going to let your fucking brother drag us on some wild goose chase all over Europe?"

Prussia didn't even react to the punch, just stood frowning at the front door, trembling in anger. It was left to Den to run up the steps, fetch the note, and open it. "Son of a bitch," he whistled. "Not just Europe!"

"What are you talking about?" England asked.

"Note says he and Veneziano took all the brandy to Japan's place because they didn't want to drink it all and get hung over."

"Well, fuck that; I'm not going to Japan," Romano decided. "This blows."

"Yes, I agree. We should chalk tonight up as a failure and go home." England took the brunet's hand.

This finally snapped Prussia out of his anger. "What? No! No way, you guys. We absolutely have to get on top of this!" His voice trembled with emotion, and the Germanic accent thickened. "I cannot – _cannot_ – accept this! West is a lame prankster. He should not have been able to come up with this." He settled a little. "In fact, I wonder if someone else was coaching him on it. Maybe Japan planned the whole thing."

"Don't be an ass. If Japan wanted to prank you he'd do it directly. Besides, he has no reason to prank me, or Romano, or England! Anyway," Denmark said with a grin, "I'm not paying for a flight to Japan tonight."

"Good point." England tried tugging on Romano's hand again, but the brunet didn't move. "Well?"

He watched Prussia think. "I have a credit card with a high line of credit," he eventually said, very slowly and carefully. "If I pay for the tickets, will you guys go?" He turned to Romano and England. "I hate to look like such a loser about this."

The island nation shook his head. "What's to stop him leaving us a note saying he went to Russia?"

"Pfft. He knows I wouldn't go near Russia, not even for apple brandy or to win a pranking war."

"You're still being stupid," Romano pointed out. "Russia was just an example. What if it said America? Would your credit card handle four more flights? And then if America's door said China? We could be flying back and forth all over the world, assuming your credit limit could handle it. No, this is all so stupid."

"Look," Prussia begged them, taking Den's hand in his earnestness. "Please. Just this once. If there's a note on Japan's door you can rag the shit out of me for the entire next calendar year, okay? I _know_ he's there. West is a penny-pincher and he's not going to waste his own money flying a jug of brandy all over the world. It makes total sense that he and Veneziano would go to Japan's place, since they're all such good friends, and I can just see the three of them drinking it, and laughing at me. At us."

Dammit. Right up to the last tiny sentence, Romano had decided not to get involved. But knowing he'd be lumped in with the idiotic albino potato if Germany won this prank war? "I'm in," he blurted out, already furious at the stupid potato bastard for putting them through this.

England let go of his hand. "You're serious?"

He shrugged. "Like you said. We didn't have any other plans tonight. If the albino idiot's paying…"

"Yeah, all right," Den agreed. "I can deal with that. Come on, England."

The blond held out for another few seconds, but when Romano took his hand again and squeezed it, he smiled and caved in with a shrug. "All right. Let's get to the airport."

…

"Are we actually going to try some kind of a prank?" Denmark wondered, once the flight had taken off. "Or are we just hoping to chase down the brandy?"

"Just get the fucking brandy. Just one glass will make me happy," Romano laughed, drinking Coke from a plastic cup. "My brain hurts too much to think of any new prank."

"Agreed." England ate the olive from his martini. "Let's just get the brandy, drink it, and be done."

"I hope Japan lets us stay there tonight. If we have to fly home drunk I'm going to get sick." Den pursed his lips and poked Prussia in the arm. "That okay with you?"

A sigh. "Yeah. Whatever. Man, I'm so sorry tonight has turned out so badly! I wanted to drink apple brandy and play poker."

"Well, it is your fault entirely," the island nation pointed out, and the other two nodded.

"My fault? How is it my fault?" Prussia asked in amazement.

"If you hadn't had to steal his case of apple brandy, you lazy asshole, if you would have made your own like you promised, we could have been drinking and playing right now! Instead, here we are, up in the atmosphere, on the way to Japan. For a fucking Axis drinking party." Romano snorted.

" _Scheisse._ But…yeah. It is my fault," Prussia agreed. "I really am sorry."

"Yeah, we know," the half-nation nodded sourly.

"But we still love you!" the other two chorused, bursting into laughter afterwards.

Ah, Prussia had the best friends in the world.

…

When they reached Japan's place, there was no note on the door. "That's a good sign," England pointed out.

"Doesn't mean anything." Den's voice was reasonable. "Knock on the door. Or maybe he slipped a note under the mat."

"I'm telling you losers, West is not going to waste a bunch of money carting that brandy all over. He'll be here."

But the house looked deserted. No lights on anywhere, inside or out. "I feel a little funny, knocking. It seems abandoned." Romano reached for the knocker but then let his hand drop.

"Well? If there's nobody here, it's not going to hurt you to knock," Prussia snapped out, and grabbed the knocker violently, swinging it madly up and down.

Nobody answered. He kept knocking, but by now the other three had accepted the inevitable. "You're a fucking _asshole~,"_ Romano sang out, backing away in case Prussia lashed out at him.

After about ten solid minutes of knocking, Den and England slouched down the stairs. "Come on, T. K. It's obvious there's nobody here."

"Are you kidding me? I bet they're huddling in the dark, laughing at us!" Prussia kept banging the knocker. _"Open up, West!"_

Den ran back up the steps and grabbed him around the waist, dragging him down to street level. "Knock it off, stupid. If they _are_ there, they're not going to answer. That much is obvious."

"Score a win for Germany," England laughed. "Come on. Let's get back."

"Pfft. Yeah. Give it up, you idiot," Den laughed, tugging on Prussia once more. "Hope I can get some sleep on the plane. Not sure I want to drive all the way home from Venice."

Romano shook his head. "Don't worry about it. The return flight will take us back there and we can just crash at my _fratello's_ place. By the time we get back there I'm going to be way too tired even to get back to Rome."

"Amen." The two of them shook hands. Then: "Move it, T. K. Just accept that you lose this time, and plan something different for next time."

" _Verdammte Schwein!_ But…yeah…there's got to be a way…" Prussia finally admitted defeat, shoving his hands into his jean pockets, and followed his friends to the curb, where they got into a taxi and headed back to the airport.

…

Romano unlocked his brother's front door with the emergency key he always carried with him. "Careful, bastards," he whispered. "I know he left all these lights on, but maybe he went to bed already. We can go into the big parlor and I'll get us some pillows and blankets."

His friends nodded and slipped into the home behind him, but before England could close the door, they could hear the sounds of a party from somewhere in the house. "Son of a bitch!" Romano spat. "He really _is_ having a party without me!" They all hurried to the source of the noise, which was the kitchen.

"Ve! Hi, guys!"

The Axis nations sat around the kitchen table, playing poker. "Hello, Prussia and friends." Germany grinned lazily. "Pull up some chairs, will you? Sorry we finished all the brandy before you got here."

Japan added, "It is nice to see you all."

"Did you have a nice flight, ve?"

Prussia ignored all that. He walked over and punched his brother in the bicep. "Is this finally the end of the prank?" he demanded.

Germany shrugged. His gaze met each of the newcomers' in turn. "I don't know. Is it?"

Denmark beamed at him, showing all his magnificent teeth. "It is now," he laughed, pulling out his wallet and forking over a bunch of money. "Glad we could work out a plan. Thanks for doing your part, all three of you." Veneziano and Japan smiled at him and nodded, while the other three stared, dumbfounded.

The Viking then turned to Prussia and flicked him in the forehead. "You think _you're_ the best damn prankster in Europe, T. K.?" he smirked, picking up Veneziano's brandy glass and slurping up the last few drops. "Come talk to me in a couple hundred years."

…

 _This is the end of the republication. Anybody have any ideas for new chapters?_


	203. The Sinnoh Region I

_I realize this isn't actually a "magical" adventure, but with all the Pokémon Go in the news, it seemed like a good choice. Diamond was the first Pokémon game I ever played._

…

 **The Sinnoh Region I.** (Pokémon)

"You're sure you want to?" England asked doubtfully, scratching his head onscreen. "We can go there, but…it's kind of…weird." The Skirmish Brothers were together at Prussia's place, on a Friday night Skype call with their friend.

"Weird is what we're all about! Kesesese! Come on, Arthur, let's do it." Prussia bounced up and down on the couch.

Romano agreed. "It'd be different, anyway. We haven't done much interesting lately." Although he'd never, never say this out loud, the Italian secretly had always wanted a Pokémon. Some kind that would be like a pet, and stay with him, that he could stick back in a Pokéball when he was bored with it. _Not_ like that stupid Pikachu, though! Something elegant. He crossed his fingers behind his back as they waited for England's reaction.

"Okay," the blond finally said with a shrug. "Come up tonight, if you can, and we can leave in the morning."

Den finally spoke up. "Do we need to bring, or not-bring, anything?"

" _Don't bring your axe!"_ everyone yelled, and they disconnected the call.

…

"Whoa, Arthur, why do you have so many backpacks this time?" Prussia gestured to the pile on the floor of the Sanctum.

"Well, I thought we might stay overnight, since it's a long weekend. Then we could get some more adventuring done. You know there are long walks between places where we'll just be alone, and I thought you gits might like to visit a couple different cities, maybe challenge some other Trainers at a gym." He grinned. "Suit you?"

"Kesesese! Sure! Do you have a Trainer hat I can wear?"

But Romano interrupted this. "It _would_ be fun, stupid, except we don't have any Pokémon, and even if we catch them, they'd be level 1!" He kicked his boyfriend in the shin.

"Ow. Don't worry. I have some Pokémon in storage there which I'll let you three use. All right? Does that sound like a plan?" Everyone nodded at the blond. "But I don't have any hats. Sorry. So, grab a backpack and get in the circle."

Den took two. "I'll carry yours, since you have to do the magic shit."

"Thanks." England lit the candle, and they went.

…

"Uh?" Prussia asked dopily. "Wh-what the hell's going on?"

The island nation laughed and laughed. "I told you it was weird. Since it's an old game world, we're all a bit pixelated around the edges!" He kept laughing, standing in the road, while the other three examined the scenery, the backpacks, and themselves.

Romano pinched his arm – it hurt – and then tried experimentally poking Den in the abs, and that hurt just as much as it always did, too. "Stop that," the Viking muttered, still staring around the glade.

Then they heard the rumble of galloping footsteps. "Uh-oh," Romano answered, hurrying to hide behind him.

Prussia again asked, "What's going on? Mamoswine? Kesesese!"

A big white Absol shot out of the nearest clump of trees and headed right for England, dropping a satchel from its mouth as it ran. "Make it stop, bastard," Romano hissed, poking Den in the back. "Don't let it hurt him!"

But the Absol knocked right into the still-laughing blond, and the two of them fell on the ground, rolling around. Now that they looked carefully, they could see that the Absol was not attacking England, but playing with him. "It's so good to see you again," the island nation finally wheezed between laughs, rubbing the Pokémon all over its big round head.

" _Absol!"_

"B-bastard?"

At that, both England and Absol stopped their frolicking and stood up. "Chaps," the blond said, petting the Pokémon, "this is Absol, my lead Pokémon, my friend."

" _Absol!"_

He then introduced each of them. "This is Gilbert." Absol politely sniffed the hand Prussia extended, and the albino stroked the round gem on its forehead wonderingly.

"This is Den." He too reached out a hand, and lightly petted Absol when permitted.

England then walked with Absol up to Romano. "And this is Romano," he said, almost shyly.

Everyone watched as Absol studied the half-nation's face. Romano was still a little nervous, but he stood his ground, and then Absol butted him in the stomach playfully. The brunet's face split into a grin and he dared to reach out and stroke its smooth head. "H-hi, Absol," he managed, and the Pokémon looked up again.

"So, where's my bloody bag of Pokéballs?" England looked around and spotted the satchel that Absol had dropped. "Ah, good. Thanks for bringing it, Absol. Come here, gits; I'll give you each one to start out with." He started laughing again, and Romano began to get nervous. What kind of stupid Pokémon was the bastard going to give him? Christ, if he got a Bug-type he was going to scream and faint, he just knew it. He held his breath.

England pulled out three different Pokéballs and handed one to each. "Go ahead – toss them and open them up."

His friends stepped back to allow Romano to go first. "Uh, I – I choose you?" he said doubtfully, throwing the ball straight up into the air. Wh-what would it be?

A flicker of black and yellow materialized into an Umbreon. _"Umbreon!"_ Wow. That was actually one of Romano's favorites. Nice and quiet, and would defend him in fights! He smiled sweetly at England, who wasn't even looking at him.

The blond stepped close and fondled his Pokémon's long ears. "Hi, Umbers. It's good to see you again. This is my friend Romano," he gestured. "Will you walk with him and battle for him while we're visiting?"

Umbreon tipped its head sideways and considered the brunet carefully, and then headbutted him much as Absol had done. _"Umbreon."_

"Th-thanks, bastard," he mumbled to England, before gesturing Den forward. Romano knelt down to pet and stare at this beautiful Umbreon; he ignored everyone else for a while. Absol came to nuzzle Umbreon's nose in greeting, too.

The Viking tossed the Pokéball up and down in his hand before opening it. "Do I have to say 'I choose you'?" he asked. "That always sounds so silly."

England sighed. "You don't have to say anything. Just throw the bloody ball."

Den threw the bloody ball and a red flash formed into Scizor. This Pokémon was very tall, but not as tall as Denmark. The two of them stared at each other for a few seconds, with Prussia sniggering quietly in the background. "Kesesese! They have the same hairdo!"

Den didn't want to scare the gleaming Scizor, though, so he ignored the albino babbling and extended a hand; Scizor took it in a claw and shook it. _"Scizor."_

The island nation stepped forward again. "Scizor, this is Den. Will you help him out during battles today?"

Scizor, not taking its eyes from Den's, nodded. _"Scizor!"_

Den laughed and moved Scizor away so that Prussia could open his Pokéball. "We are going to be so fierce! Okay, go for it, T. K."

"I – choose – _you!"_ Prussia yelled, laughing hysterically, and chucked the ball as hard as he could. "I hope it's a Salamence!" Even Romano looked up from petting Umbreon to see what the bastard would get.

They could all see a flash of pink, but it wouldn't solidify at first. What kinds of Pokémon were pink? Romano couldn't remember. Skitty, maybe? He snorted.

But no. The flickering finally stopped, and became a pinkish-purple Wobbuffet with lipstick and long eyelashes. "Jesus Christ," Romano said, before bursting out laughing. Den and England, too. What a dumbass choice – or maybe not, the brunet considered. Wobbuffet was a perfect choice!

"Beautiful!" the albino idiot yelled. "Arthur, where did you find a pink Wobbuffet? And it's a _girl?_ "

The Pokémon saluted him, and he saluted right back. _"Wobbuffet!"_ she yelled happily.

"Gilbert!" he yelled in response, and then took her flat hand and shook it forcefully. "Great to meet you!"

" _Wobbu-wobbuffet!"_ She blew him a kiss, laughing and waving her black tail around.

Everyone stood around grinning madly, except Umbreon, who was a serious kind of Pokémon, and then England dusted his hands together. "Well? Shall we walk? We're closest to Eterna City." He pointed. "I only have a couple Pokéballs with me – empty ones, I mean – so, if you want to battle wild Pokémon, that's fine, but we can't catch too many."

"We need balls, though. Can we get balls at the store?" Den asked, picking up his backpack. " _Poké_ balls," he clarified in a snarky tone, before Prussia or Romano could make any crude jokes. Romano stuck out his tongue and laughed, but Prussia was busy trying to hold hands with his Wobbuffet and missed the whole discussion.

England took his backpack from the Dane. "Of course. I'm sure we'll want to wander around and explore the city, too. If you have any questions let me know." Absol scampered up to walk next to him, and they all set off down the path.

…

 _Other than random battles I have no particular plans for this arc; if you have ideas, please let me know! Thanks._


	204. The Sinnoh Region II

_Going to make this world a hybrid of the game and the anime, because I want to put Team Rocket in the story!_

…

 **The Sinnoh Region II.**

Den found himself very comfortable, wandering along with his friends and all the Pokémon. Scizor walked calmly by his side, eyes darting around seeking wild Pokémon to battle.

So far, Prussia had battled five Pokémon (all Bug-types), but simply for the joy of battling, not in order to catch any. The first three bugs had trounced the pink Wobbuffet easily, but they all understood it was because Prussia didn't know its battle moves. So the albino had asked England for some tactics, and after the consultation, he'd easily won the two other battles.

England and Absol had battled a few, just for fun, but that Absol was so powerful that it took down all these weak opponents almost instantly.

And Romano had battled twice – against a Shinx, which had beaten Umbreon and run off, and a Skitty, which he'd caught with a Pokéball and which now rode on Umbreon's back, lazily batting a paw at its long ears and occasionally meowing "Skitty" in a lazy voice. Den snorted. Eterna City was only another mile ahead, England had told them, so they were headed to this place to sightsee, get more Pokéballs, and – and maybe battle in a gym.

Den was a little worried, because he and Scizor hadn't battled together yet. "Hey, do you –"

But he was interrupted by a group in white, leaping out of the nearest copse of trees. _Team_ _Rocket!_ He watched Jessie draw breath to speak, but had an inspiration of his own. Probably due to Beowulf, he laughed, before yelling out "Prepare for trouble! Four fighters are here!" Man, he hoped those bastards would play along. He jumped into a battling stance.

T. K., of course, followed his lead, both physically and verbally, flashing the victory sign. "Kesesese! And after we beat you, we'll go for a beer!"

Den pointed at his other friends. "Romano – Arthur – Gilbert – and Den –"

Leaving Prussia to finish the rhyme: "We'll beat you once, then we'll do it again!"

Then the pink Wobbuffet said, _"Wobbuffet!"_ and blew a kiss towards Jessie's Wobbuffet, who had big throbbing pink hearts where his eyes should be. Laughing hysterically, Prussia and Den did a fist bump. Romano cowered in the background, covering his eyes in embarrassment, but England stood laughing with them.

Jessie, however, was irate, and stalked right up to him. "You can't pilfer our motto! That's a Team Rocket motto!"

So Den shrugged and stepped back. "Okay. Hit us with your motto. We won't interrupt."

Defiantly, she jumped forward, a fist in the air. "Prepare for trouble! We – uh – ah – oh, now I've lost my rhythm! Come on, James, say something!"

James leaped up beside her and said in a wobbly voice, "And make it double, so we can – uh – I don't know?" He scratched his head. "This is really difficult to do on the fly."

Meowth elbowed his way between them. "Hey! Don't forget about me! Meowth! That's my name!"

Jessie seemed inspired by this, and tried to wind up the abortive motto. "Team Rocket blasts off at the speed of – uh?"

"Something about surrendering," James suggested. "I can't remember unless we practice a lot beforehand!"

" _Wobbuffet!"_

"Kesesese. You guys really do need practice. Want to battle?" Prussia tossed his empty Pokéball up and down nonchalantly.

"Team battle," Den suggested. "T. K. and me against you two."

James and Jessie panicked again and went into a quick huddle with their Pokémon. "That Scizor looks strong," Den heard, and smirked. He hoped it actually was strong, and not some newly-evolved one that didn't know its own powers.

"All right, we'll do it," James announced, breaking the huddle. "Wobbuffet and Meowth against Scizor and Wobbuffet."

The two Wobbuffets had gone off to the side, the blue one flirting, the pink one playing hard-to-get, but when they heard this, both of them snapped to attention, saluted, and came back to their trainers.

England walked up to his friends. "Listen, you really want to do this? You know you can beat them, of course, but it may be a little – ridiculous?"

Romano, still in the background, nodded his agreement to this. "Don't let them take England's Pokémon if they win," he called out.

Prussia snorted. "What are you two talking about? We'll totally thrash them! Look at that Meowth. All talk and no action." He poked the island nation. "Don't worry."

So the blond pulled Scizor and the now-focused pink Wobbuffet aside. "Give them the win, do you understand me?" Scizor nodded, and Wobbuffet saluted and blew him a kiss. He dropped his voice lower. "Use your best judgment, even if you have to ignore their commands." They both nodded this time, and he stepped back with Romano to allow them space to battle. The two of them sat, with their Pokémon, well out of range to watch.

"Wish we had some popcorn," Den heard Romano say. But he had to focus. He turned back to Team Rocket.

"Well? Are you too chicken?" Jessie demanded. "Get up here and battle!"

Den grabbed Prussia by the arm. "Come on. Let's get up there."

…

Jessie started out with a Safeguard.

Prussia followed suit.

Before Meowth could attack, Den yelled, "Scizor! Use X-Scissor on Meowth!" Scizor leaped into action and did this, making Meowth cry out in pain. The blue Wobbuffet tried to stop it, but was too slow. After Scizor's attack, it stood back to wait for more instructions.

"Pound 'em, Den!" Romano yelled. "Don't just stand there!"

James then commanded Meowth to use Slash on Scizor; a fail, since the tall red Pokémon has a steel body. "Ow, my claws," Meowth moaned, while its opponent smirked.

Prussia then told his Wobbuffet to use Mirror Coat, but she wasn't paying attention. Instead she was batting her eyelashes at the blue Wobbuffet, who was also ignoring the battle in order to clasp its hands and breathe heavily. "Oh, my _God,_ " Prussia muttered. "Hey! Jellia! Get to work!"

Play screeched to a halt. "J-Jellia?" James asked. "Who, or what, is Jellia?" Even the two Wobbuffets stopped their antics to listen.

"I decided to give my Wobbuffet a name," T. K. said airily. "She looks like the center of a delicious jelly donut, so, Jellia. Then we won't get our Wobbuffets mixed up."

The newly-christened Jellia looked down at her bulging pinkish-purple body, then did a little twirl and yelled, "Jellia!"

In the background Den could see England covering his face this time. "Bollocks," he heard, but ignored it. "My poor Pokémon!"

"Back to the battle, then," James said wearily, and in fact, he did look kind of weak and disinterested. "Meowth, use Fury Swipes."

The Pokémon turned to James in disgust, hands on hips. "Don't be stupid! If I use Fury Swipes it will hurt my claws! I'm not going to try to scratch that thing again." It pointed at Scizor.

"Fine!" James yelled, goaded. "Use it on the jelly donut!"

Jessie got a glazed look in her eye. "Mm, jelly donuts. Let's go get some when we're done here."

But Den had had enough of this. "We _are_ done here," he spat. "This is the dumbest battle there ever was!"

" _Wobbuffet!"_

He laughed at that. "Come on, brothers, let's keep walking towards Eterna City. And you," he said to Team Rocket. "Get your act together and stop pestering people!"

James and Jessie stood with their mouths agape as England, Romano, and their Pokémon walked up to the battle site and clapped their friends on the shoulders. "Come on, bastards, let's walk." The group of them moved off, leaving Team Rocket still standing in disbelief.

About fifty yards on, they heard a faint yelling:

"Prepare for trouble! We're not done yet!"

"And make it double! Let's make a real bet!"

"Jessie!"

"James!"

"Meowth! There's a name!"

"Team Rocket blasts off at the speed of sound!"

"And we're going to pound you into the ground!"

 _"Wobbuffet!"_

The nations stopped walking. "Should we go try again?" T. K. asked.

"Forget it." England scowled at them all. "Yes, it was funny, but I don't want to waste all day messing around with them!"

"I agree." Romano took his boyfriend's hand. "Besides, if they did beat you, you'd feel like idiots. _More_ like idiots," he laughed, dropping England's hand.

"B-but – " Den really wanted to go back and battle.

"But what?" Prussia asked, poking him.

"But they want to make a _real bet!"_

…

 _Meeting the Unown is a good idea, and at least one of them will try a gym battle in Eterna City. Thanks for the suggestions!_


	205. The Sinnoh Region III

**The Sinnoh Region III.**

Before they could take another step, Prussia lost focus for a second, and heard a weird whooshing in his ears. "What – what?" he barely managed to croak out.

"Hang onto each other!" England yelled, grabbing him and Romano; Prussia felt Den catch him up in a big hug. Through the visual distortions, they saw the island nation let go of Prussia and toss the Pokeballs and sack away from them. "Get them safe home, Absol," he called out, and the world vanished just as they heard a faint, answering _"Absol…"_

Prussia never knew just how long they stayed in the limbo land. It – it didn't exactly hurt, except that Den must have been scared because his hug was brutal. The pixels of the Pokemon world grew and merged, as if the four of them were floating inside a box. "What?" he tried to ask again. Sounds like moaning surrounded them on all sides, and he heard Denmark's teeth begin to chatter, though the Viking didn't speak.

"Save your breath and hold on." England wheezed this and held his hand and Romano's very tightly; luckily, they had all been wearing their traveling backpacks.

And then the four of them landed with a bump on the floor of England's Sanctum. "Jesus Christ," Romano moaned, rubbing his head. "What the fuck?"

England dropped his bag and took some deep breaths. "Everyone okay?"

There was a pause while all of them checked for damage. "I'm fine," Prussia then laughed, "except where Den squeezed the snot out of me!" He lifted his shirt, half in fun and half seriously, to check for bruising.

The Dane punched him in the arm. "Shut up. England, what happened?"

They all sat up, staring at the blond intently. His dark eyebrows drew down into a scowl. "Someone wants me," he muttered. "Someone wants me badly enough to call me back in a serious way."

"Parliament?" Romano wondered.

"Probably. Or similar. But I – "

Before he could finish the sentence, they heard a stomping around overhead, and then a long, plaintive wail. "Iggy – y – y!"

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Romano barked. "That clueless loser is the reason we're back?"

"Let me pound the shit out of him," Den offered. "I didn't even get to have a real battle!"

"That's fine with me," England snarled. "Most of the time I'd be happy to pound him myself." They got off the floor and trooped upstairs. "What do you want?" he yelled, storming up to the hero.

"Iggy – uh, hey guys," he added, as the other three walked in with menacing expressions on their faces. "Iggy, I really need your help!"

England grabbed the hero's shirt front in a fist. "You bloody, bloody tosser. Now what?"

"Uh! I'm in so much trouble! Everybody's leaving the country because Trump won the election! What do I _do?"_

" _That's_ what you want me to help you with?" Without warning, England punched him in the nose; startled, America just blinked in shock. Then the island nation reached up, took the glasses off very gently, and set them on a small glass occasional table, before shooting right into anger again. "You _selfish child!"_

He then began pounding the hero senseless, grabbing him by the shirt, the hair, punching, kicking and gouging; America, still stunned at first, finally got his brains together and began to fight back, but Prussia didn't like to see his friends fighting. "Hey, guys, stop," he eventually tried, putting a hand on the struggling England's shoulder.

"Get the fuck off me!" that nation roared, dropping his opponent for a second and picking up Prussia by shirt and belt. With a mighty heave he flung the stunned albino towards his other friends. "Get out of the goddamn room!" The ex-nation landed on his ass and skidded backwards across the polished floor.

Romano needed no second urging, and ran like hell. Den and Prussia, raising their eyebrows at each other, followed him; they all stood around the door jamb with their faces peeking out to watch the fight: Den on top, Prussia in the middle, and Romano kneeling on the floor, lowest of the three, and the most terrified.

England had gone right back to pounding the shit out of America, who kept dodging with looks of amazement on his face. Knickknacks and furniture were getting destroyed and shoved around. The island nation knocked his opponent down and sat on his back, squeezing his fingers around the thick neck, still yelling. "Bloody hell! If you're going to come running to me every time you have a problem, why the fuck did you fight so hard for independence?" He shook the tall blond so hard that America's forehead banged on the floorboards.

Amazingly, the three friends heard the fallen hero try to answer. "But everyone's going to _leave me-e-e – "_ before England tightened his grip again.

Then America kicked out and knocked his mentor off him; both jumped to their feet and began fighting again. England picked up a floor lamp and swung it at America's head; the younger nation failed to dodge and it hit him forcefully, right above the ear, with a thick metallic _clang;_ it kept traveling in an arc and smashed into the glass of a wall-hung painting depicting the War of 1812. "Jesus," Romano moaned; he couldn't decide if he was terrified or aroused!

"I haven't seen him like this since the pirate days," Prussia agreed in a whisper. Den just shook his head in amazement.

After another few seconds, and more decorations destroyed, including the screen of the TV as America's head fell backwards and cracked it, the island nation yanked his opponent up, standing behind him with an arm around his neck and the other one holding one of America's arms twisted up his back in an awkward position. The three hiding nations had a clear view of the bloody, exhausted hero's face. "Get out of my house. Get out of my _country!_ " England bellowed.

Despite the pounding he'd taken, America was still defiant. "You're not gonna break my arm," he wheezed, cockily.

"You're right. I'm not." Instead, he snapped one of the hero's fingers; America screamed. "Are you going to get out?"

"Jesus, Iggy!"

Snap. Scream.

"Are you going to leave me alone?"

Snap. America didn't scream this time, just whimpered. His face was grey and pouring with sweat and blood. Looking at him, Romano nearly vomited in the hallway. "Stop breaking my fingers," America wheezed out weakly.

"I could do this all day," England then smirked, knowing this particular phrase would enrage the younger nation.

"God damn it!" the so-called hero yelled, losing patience. "Just let me the hell out of here!"

So England picked him up by collar and belt, just as he'd done with Prussia, and flung America backwards through the giant picture window; it shattered, and the big blond landed on the sidewalk in a bed of glass shards, moaning and cradling his broken fingers.

The island nation then turned back, picked up the eyeglasses from where they'd miraculously remained unharmed, and crushed them in a fist before flinging them out the broken window onto America's chest. "Get the hell out. Grow up and solve your own fucking problems," he sneered. He then sharply drew the curtains together, shutting out the sight, before turning back and seeing his friends still cowering around the door jamb.

Romano still couldn't decide whether he was aroused, or scared of his boyfriend. "B-bastard?" he whispered.

"You get out too," he snapped to the three of them. He looked around for something to throw.

Den was first out the door, quickly followed by Prussia. When Romano tried to follow, he felt England jerk on his arm to pull him back. Shit! Was he going to get beaten up for not leaving fast enough? He turned slowly, shaking a bit. "Wh-what?" he asked, trying to sound brave and badass.

But the blond grinned at him in that special way he had. "I'm – pretty turned on, and full of adrenaline. Want to come upstairs and play?"

Aroused, Romano finally decided, and grinned, pinching his friend's sweaty cheek. "Get the fuck up there, badass pirate bastard."

…

 _Well, nobody was reviewing, and I was bored with it. Sorry._

" _I could do this all day" is a particular Captain America catchphrase; of course America would be pissed off if England started taunting him with it._


	206. Swords and Shocks

_Did you ever have the feeling that Den and Romano could be Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser? I did!_

 _This is not a Magical Adventures story, and not quite a crossover either. Set in Lankhmar, it features Denmark and Romano in the roles of Fafhrd and the Mouser, but using their Hetalia names. England and Prussia appear but they are not based on any specific characters (except themselves)._

 _Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser were invented by Fritz Leiber in his swords-and-sorcery series of adventures. The first book in the series (begun in 1939) is "Swords and Deviltry." They are kind of difficult to read, very old-fashioned._

…

 **Swords and Shocks.**

In the gloom of the Silver Eel tavern, two men sat unnoticed at a corner table, drinking. The larger one, tall and broad with a thick shock of blond hair, belched discreetly and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Get another round in," he told his smaller companion, tapping on the old tabletop for emphasis.

The other, the southerner, dark and scowling, fumbled at his waist for the pouch where he kept his coins. "Nothing," he grumbled after a peek. "Maybe enough for another drink. I don't even have the price of a bed for the night. Looks like we'll be sleeping on benches here, or in a park, unless you…?" He let the question dangle delicately, arching an eyebrow over a keen amber eye as he peeked at his friend's money pouch where it rested on the broad tooled belt.

"Not me." The blond giant stretched, accidentally dislodging his axe Grayslice which had been resting against the table. "Whoops." He righted the awe-inspiring weapon and flipped his flaccid money pouch onto the table. "Oh, there are a few small coins – perhaps the price of two drinks – but that's all."

"Well, we'll have to get some money somehow, won't we?" Romano smirked. "As to the price of a bed, I'm not worried. There are plenty of girls in Lankhmar who would welcome heroes like us with open arms."

Den shifted his weight again. "True. And it's early yet."

"All I want to do is relax here, have some drinks, then find a girl, then go to bed. Tomorrow is the solstice, remember. It would be delightful to have someone new for the celebrations."

"Well, then." Den's blue eyes scanned the other patrons. "The only way to solve it is to take the money from someone else. By force or guile."

Romano too eyed the room's occupants. Many of them were thieves they knew of old, men and women who would be instantly wary of the two. A few were religious men, monks, too weak and impecunious for the duo to steal from. But over in that corner – "What about those two?" he asked, pointing subtly with his chin. "They look to have much more than the price of a few drinks upon them."

Denmark nodded. One of the men, his back to them, wore a pristine white tabard with a large black cross on it – a symbol the northerner did not recognize. The stranger's white hair gleamed in the dull tavern candlelight. They could not see his face, but because of that hair, assumed him an old man, easy to fool and rob.

His companion seemed fully drunk already. His hair was pale too – about the same as Denmark's – and he sagged on the bench, desperately clasping a mug which appeared to be empty, since he periodically banged it on the table yet spilled no drink. "Easy pickings," Romano affirmed.

Den held out his huge hand to seal the deal. "First one to come away with a gold piece or ten silvers wins the bet."

Romano laughed merrily before shaking his hand. "My friend, I was thieving in Lankhmar long before you arrived. Prepare yourself for a bit of defeat." He drew Cat's Claw, his dagger, and punctured Den's money pouch, skewering it to the table.

"Pfft. Get moving. My strength will do more than your sneaky thieving ways!" Den yanked the dagger from the table and handed it back.

"Fine. I'll take the drunk one, you take the old man. Does that suit you?"

"Eminently. Let's go." They grabbed their possessions and hurried across the room.

…

The drunken blond looked up at the approach of the two friends. Romano saw his green eyes narrow, then force themselves to focus. Impressive! Suddenly the young man appeared far less intoxicated. This might be a problem. But the southerner lowered himself easily onto the bench, offering as much of a friendly smile as he could manage. At this point all he wanted to do was ascertain how many coins the stranger had tucked away. "Greetings."

The young blond released his firm grip on the tankard and slid further away to make room, the elbows of his patched leather jacket scraping the scarred oak tabletop with a rough sound. "Hello." His voice was pleasing, not slurred at all. How was that possible? Romano narrowed his eyes and stared, but the stranger looked back at him unabashed. "Come here a lot?"

"Not usually. Too crowded." This was true. He and Den had come to the Silver Eel to seek friends to drink with, friends with money – any friends at all. Yet the tavern, while overfull, contained not one of their acquaintances! Romano, irritated, affected nonchalance as he looked unseeing at the usual mix of prostitutes, thieves, and other lowlifes in the tavern. "New in town?" He slid marginally closer to the strange man, trying to spot a money pouch, or a bulging pocket. In the dark corner this would be difficult. Should he call for more candles, or a lantern? No, that might alarm the two targets. What he needed to do was get the stranger to pay for some drinks, perhaps some resinous Mingol wine. (One sip befuddled even Denmark, sometimes! Surely this slight young man would succumb to its heady embrace?)

The blond didn't answer his question, but picked up the empty tankard and gazed into it. "Need another drink."

Romano thought quickly. If _he_ bought the drinks – with his last two coins – it would most likely push this drunken sot into unconsciousness. Then he would have all the leisure time he needed to search for a gold piece, or ten silver, and win the bet. He offered the man a rare smile, raising his arm to call the serving wench over. "Allow me."

 _Hic._ "Thanks."

While they waited, Romano spared a moment to glance at Denmark, to see how his friend fared in the acquisition of weekend finances.

…

Den approached the old man, carrying Grayslice easily in one hand, still wondering about that tabard. He'd seen the style in his travels, but no one in this area favored that type of tunic, and the cruciform design was unfamiliar to him. "Good evening," his deep voice boomed, as he plopped down next to the unusually-clad ancient.

"Hey! Hi!"

Denmark blinked in shock, and Romano too looked up, startled, from across the table. This was no old man! His face was unlined – in fact, rather youthful – and the man had gleaming red eyes that reminded Den unpleasantly of rats, spiders, all sorts of unsavory things that he and Romano had encountered in their adventures. He shuddered, but answered nicely, because he wanted to win the bet. "Hi yourself." Resting Grayslice against the tabletop, he smiled at the serving wench – now placing drinks before Romano and the swaying blond – and swiped the fresh tankard from under his friend's nose, draining it and laughing at the scowl on the southerner's face.

"Kesesese! You sure can drink. I don't even think I could drink a mugful that fast!" The pale man's voice was a sweet alto with an unusual accent. Perhaps he was even a young boy. Den squinted but couldn't really tell. Well, he would make this a sort of sub-mission: finding out the albino's true age.

But first – he needed to obtain a gold piece, or ten silver. "I can never get enough to drink," he laughed, clapping the man on the shoulder. Perhaps if he spent his last groat on a drink for each of them, he could lull the albino into pulling out some coins. Should be easy to swipe them at that point. "Join me?"

"Sure, I don't mind."

Predictably, when the drinks arrived, Romano took Den's and sucked it down in haste. "Just avenging myself," he laughed.

The white-haired man did too. "Hey, let's arm-wrestle," he said, cuffing Denmark on the arm. "It's boring in here."

"Don't do it," the drunk blond warned Den. "You'll regret it."

But the gigantic Northerner ignored that remark. "Okay. I bet you – a silver coin, that I will win."

"Kesesese! You're on!"

Romano and his benchmate watched the contest – the brunet with fear that Den would win (and be that much closer towards winning their private bet), and the intoxicated blond with little enthusiasm. Denmark flexed his arms a few times, settled into position, and easily trounced the newcomer. "Ha ha! One silver!"

"One silver," the man agreed, flipping the coin towards his opponent.

Out of the corner of his eye, as Den tucked away the bright slice of his success, he saw Romano turn to the drunk man and begin to whisper. He sat back, watching to see whether the southerner could cut the man's purse and make an escape.

But the other blond swayed against Romano with a sweet, sweet smile. The hackles rose on the back of Den's neck as he watched the man whisper into Romano's ear. What topic did they discourse on? Surely not –

His thoughts ceased, his face went blank, as he watched his southern friend's eyes widen. Romano drew back and stared, as best he could, at the big green eyes in the smoky tavern light. "You are serious?" he asked hoarsely.

Den strained his ears further, but the noise of the patrons prevented him hearing anything, until the albino cackled his sinister "kesesese!" again. "Want to come back to our place?" the foreign voice asked, as a warm, strong hand slid up and down his powerful thigh.

"Uh?" He jerked away from that questing hand but before he could react to the stranger, Denmark saw Romano lick his lips and attempt a quavering smile. Then the white-haired man's question penetrated the fog in his mind, and he looked back at those red eyes, trying not to shudder.

Denmark saw quite clearly what was going on here. These strangers were – well – they preferred the company of _men!_ He and Romano had heard of this sort of thing, but had never encountered it, and had certainly never considered it themselves. Idly he wondered what it might be like, and then scowled. What sort of thoughts were coursing through his brain?

"Well?" the sweet voice asked again, as a finger poked him in the abdomen. "Come on, let's not let them have all the fun."

And indeed, Romano had risen from the table and taken the drunken blond by the hand in order to steer him through the crowded tavern. "At least we'll get beds for the night," he hissed to Den, not meeting his larger friend's eyes.

True, Den thought. And perhaps while these unnatural men slept, he could rifle their belongings and come up with enough money to win the bet with Romano! He knew he and his friend would not be hurt. He was far too strong, and Romano too wily. "Okay," he agreed mildly, rising from the bench. "Where to?"

"Kesesese!" The man in the tabard leaped up and cleared a path to the door with elbows and knees, and the other three followed his cackling voice, his shining white hair, as best they could.

…

Now that they'd reached the house where the strangers lodged, Romano began to lose his nerve. "I do not wish to distress you," he began, in the courtly language he often used, "but my companion and I – "

He was cut off as the intoxicated blond embraced him and pressed a kiss to his lips. Startled, Romano reacted in the most natural way possible – he slid his arms around the young man and pulled him close.

 _Too_ close. As their bodies pressed together, he could feel several unexpected things! This "young man" had breasts which pressed against Romano's chest, and this "young man" was distinctly lacking where other things should press but didn't. "Y-you're a woman?" he blurted out.

"You _wanker!_ " the – other person – yelled, all drunkenness forgotten. "You thought I was a _man?_ And you came here to stay with me tonight? That's disgusting." The blonde smacked him in the face.

"Kesesese! Calm down, will you?" The albino peeled off the fancy tunic and stood in tight white trousers and a bejeweled bandeau around prodigious breasts, smiling lazily at Den. "Don't tell me you thought _I_ was a man. Not after beating me in arm-wrestling."

Wisely, Den decided not to answer that. Since the room had two very large and elegant beds, and two lithe and appealing young women, he knew exactly what he planned to do tonight – and he would have bet his mythical gold piece that Romano was up for it as well.

Yes. The blonde girl had apparently lost all her hostility; she and Romano sat on the bed, fumbling with the fastenings of each other's clothing. "Hurry, hurry," she whispered, and he tried to comply.

Den turned his attention away and faced his grinning companion. "Well, then," he laughed, caressing her sculpted jaw and speaking for his friend's benefit, "all bets are off, aren't they?"

"Mm, yes," Romano managed to agree, before sinking back onto the fur-covered bed with his beauty in his arms.

…

When the rosy light of dawn peeked through the elegant room's curtains, Romano snapped awake, then relaxed as he felt the arm of the beautiful blonde around his waist. He smiled fondly at her as she slept, remembering all the enticing positions she'd accommodated last night. Mm…yes, he was glad Den had called off their ridiculous bet, because he'd been able to focus all his attention on pleasing the girl, and not on stealing her coins. He reached a hand out and caressed her messy short hair, running his hand down her side to the curve of her hip. She shifted a bit and woke up. "Good morning," she smiled.

The sound must have awakened her friend. "It's morning!" the albino girl announced unnecessarily, startling Den into sitting upright. "Come on! We are going to be so late!"

Both girls leaped out of bed in a fervor. "We have to get out of town before the sun comes up," the blonde explained to Romano as she hurriedly dressed.

"Do you need assistance? An escort?" His protective instincts leapt out as he watched her supple body struggle into layers of clothing.

"No, no, seriously, we really have to go! Feel free to stay here as long as you want, though; the room's paid for until tomorrow." The albino flung the fluttering tabard over her head and shoved her arms through the sides. "You two were totally awesome."

"Here," the blonde girl said, turning to the stunned heroes. "Thanks for your time. 'Twas bloody marvelous." She threw a gold piece to each of them, and the two women ran out the door.


End file.
